


maybe i'm alive

by lux_et_astra



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, I love this story so much, Multi, Peggy Carter Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Roleswap, and like roleswap au, basically peggy goes missing so she's now captain america, detectives au, i don't really know what i'm doing but i like it anyways sooooooo, it's an odd cross between coffee shop au, it's basically let's hurt peggy time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 22,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27126590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lux_et_astra/pseuds/lux_et_astra
Summary: Peggy Carter has been missing for six years. When she comes back, she has a hole in her life she can't possibly fill, and a mystery she can't possibly solve. But there's a cute girl at the diner next to the precinct, and she has a team of detectives willing to help her find her new place in life... and help her figure out what happened in the six years she was gone.
Relationships: Background Steve Rogers/James "Bucky" Barnes, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers - Relationship, Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli, background Daniel Sousa/Violet (Agent Carter TV), background Jemma Simmons/Skye | Daisy Johnson, background Maria Hill/Bobbi Morse
Comments: 49
Kudos: 61





	1. peggy. peggy carter.

The newspapers are calling her Captain America.

It’s absurd. She’s not some kind of superhero. She’s not anything special. She’s not even American. She’s just regular. But she knows where the moniker comes from. She’d been flying a plane of the same name. She’d always been the Captain America case.

Well. She’s anything but regular. 

The newspapers had been interested when she’d disappeared, but not much. A couple of page-three stories in the first year. The third year, they’d finally gotten around to putting a eulogy in the back. Technically, she can’t be declared dead yet. Another seven months, she would have been dead _in absentia_. But she knows she’s been gone six years. Nobody expected her to ever come back.

The newspapers had been much more excited when she did.

**“Disappeared detective finally found.” “NYPD detective found after six years.” “Homicide detective found with no memory of last six years.”**

The case had been big, far too big. They’d all been investigating a shady organisation with ties within the NYPD itself, and as the lead on the case, she’d clearly got too close. And she’d been flying her friend’s private plane home to London for the holidays, somewhere over the Atlantic, and she’d disappeared.

She doesn’t remember much. She remembers the plane going down, water filling her lungs, and the next thing she remembers is she’s on the side of the road in Iowa, bloody and bruised and totally lost.

It’s been about eight weeks, and she’s still just as lost. Her old precinct is more than willing to welcome her back, after a few weeks of physical and mental therapy, and she’s just passed both her physical and psych evaluations. She starts back today, in— she checks her watch. An hour and a half.

She’s sitting at the counter in the diner just next to the precinct. It’s old-fashioned, like an American diner from the forties. The waitresses all wear light blue dresses, there’s a neon green sign in the front, and there’s a wall of windows you can slot a coin into to reward yourself with a key lime pie.

The rhubarb crumble she’s bought is sitting on the bar in front of her, slowly getting cold. She’s lost in her thoughts. Her precinct will be different. There will have been people left, people died, people new and people promoted. She thinks she’s heard that Garrett and Hand work in Internal Affairs now, and Phil’s been promoted to Captain of the 19th. 

She’s been gone for six years. Her old boyfriend has moved on with his childhood crush (not that she blames him— she’s been presumed dead for _six whole years_ ), and all her friends have been promoted or transferred or quit. Nick Fury is Chief of Detectives now. He used to be her captain. Jarvis is teaching in London. And Howard… Howard is dead.

She realises that her hands are shaking, and wraps them around the still-warm tea mug in front of her. She’s technically ready to go back to work. She’d been a little beat-up when she’d been found — exhausted, dehydrated, a couple broken fingers and ribs — but she’s back in as excellent fitness as she had been six years ago. 

She’s been alone for a while. She’d been in the hospital for a couple of days, and everyone had visited, but she’d needed a little while alone to gather her thoughts. She’s missed so much. 

She’d spent a couple of weeks up in Daniel’s old cabin in the woods. It had been quiet, and she’d spent a large amount of time googling what exactly the world had been up to while she was away. She’s unsurprised to learn that it’s mostly gone to shit.

Daniel had been there a couple of times a week, bringing food and new clothes and bags upon bags of tea. She learns that he’s got a shiny new job at the FBI, and that their old captain, Dooley, died in an explosion a couple of years back. He updates her on the parts of life she can’t find on Wikipedia. Everyone’s new jobs, their relationships, their families. Carol has a daughter now. Pepper and Tony are engaged.

She started seeing a therapist when she got back to the city, to a new apartment her friends are covering until she’s got her job back, and she hasn’t stopped seeing her yet. 

The first weeks she’d been in the cabin, every movement, every sound had sent her panicking, her breath hard and fast and her mind racing, searching for threats. Every night she’d woken from nightmares she could no longer remember, until she’d got so exhausted she’d just passed out, and woken seventeen hours later, still tired. That was when she’d made the call to the therapist. She’s slowly healing, learning coping mechanisms for the panic attacks and the nightmares, and learning to try and relax, convincing herself she doesn’t have to be tense and on-edge all the time. It’s a long process, but she’s getting there.

She figures she’d probably been kidnapped by Hydra, the organisation that she’d been investigating, but she knows she’ll never prove it. Hydra are too clean, too efficient, too good. She can’t help but wonder why she’s out now. What’s changed?

She’s been texting with Carol, who tells her that the detectives at the precinct have been looking into her disappearance, but it’s been weeks and eventually the investigation was declared cold. She keeps a stack of files in her office that Daniel’s managed to bring her, and scrawls notes on the back of overdue bills. It’s not that she’s desperate to solve her own case, but she is desperate to find Hydra, and bring them down. She’s worked on this too long, lost too much, to give up now.

Realising her tea has faded to an ugly lukewarm, she glances up to see a pretty waitress scrubbing hard at a stubborn stain a couple seats down from her. Clearly feeling her eyes on her, the waitress looks up, sliding down the bar and leaning across it.

She’s young and bright and her hair is in perfect 1940s curls around her shoulders, and her blue dress sets off her eyes in a way she hadn’t thought the ugly uniforms could ever be capable of. She’s smiling, and it makes her want to smile a little too. Not much makes her want to do that, these days.

“Hey,” she says, cheerful and enthusiastic. She has a broad New York accent that perfectly fits the character she’s imagining. Her hazel eyes sparkle. “I’m Angie. What’s your name?”

“Peggy,” she replies, her voice catching in her throat. “Peggy Carter.”


	2. not as many as i'd like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's finally ready for her first day back. Nearly.

Angie is bubbly and cheery and she makes Peggy smile; a small, despite-herself smile that makes her feel like maybe today won’t be so bad. Angie is free.

“I won’t be here long,” says Angie, so certain, wringing out her dishcloth. “I was born for Broadway.”

“I’m sure you’ll make it,” says Peggy sincerely. 

“Thanks, English,” breezes Angie. She’s picked up the nickname ever since the first couple of words Peggy had said, and she can’t deny, she likes it a little. It’s better than Margaret, and better than Marge, and far, _far_ better than Captain America.

“What about you, then?” Angie asks, honest curiosity on your face. “What do you do?”

“I’m a homicide detective,” says Peggy automatically. “With the NYPD.” She pauses, frowning. “Or, I suppose, I will be. Today is my first day back.”

“Back?” repeats Angie. “What, were you on holiday?” She gasps, her eyes wide. “Did you quit?” 

She makes it sound positively scandalous, and Peggy can’t help but laugh a little.

“Not exactly,” she says. She’s been on the news. She knows she won’t be able to hide behind the comfort of anonymity for long. All Angie has to do is whip out her phone and type in her name, and she’ll know more than anyone needs to know about her work and her mind and her life. “There were a few problems with a case.”

“Mysterious,” says Angie, lifting an eyebrow, but she doesn’t press further, and Peggy’s glad. Angie is free, and uncomplicated. “So do you have long, then?”

Peggy checks her watch. “An hour,” she reports. Angie’s eyes brighten.

“Enough time to eat this, then, once I’ve reheated it!” She swipes the rhubarb crumble off the counter and twirls round, sticking it in the microwave behind her. 

“Oh, really, you don’t have to—” Peggy begins, fully aware that she’s the one who’s let it go cold, but Angie’s pressed all the buttons and the plate inside starts to turn slowly with a low hum. She relents. “Thank you, Angie.”

“Not a problem, English,” she says, smiling widely. “Big day for you. Gotta get your breakfast.”

Peggy wrinkles her brow, aware of how this must look. “I don’t normally have pudding for breakfast,” she says. “I thought I might treat myself today.”

“Hey, no judgement here,” says Angie, holding up her hands. “Half the time my breakfast consists of last night’s takeout.”

Peggy laughs again. The last few weeks have been conspicuously laugh-free — after all, it’s hard to find much funny when your whole life has moved on six years ahead of you. Angie is free and uncomplicated and makes her laugh. 

Angie places the crumble down in front of her and Peggy begins to pick at it.

“So. You ready to get back to work?”

“I’m afraid work is going to be a little different,” Peggy admits. “I’ve missed a fair bit.”

“Oh yeah?” asks Angie, prompting her for more.

“Well, my old captain got promoted to Chief of Detectives,” she says. “And everyone’s pretty much moved up a spot to take everyone else’s places.” She bites back a bitter comment about how if she’d been here, if she’d been around, she would almost certainly have been at least a sergeant by now. But somehow she’s still a twenty-seven year old detective, despite having aged six years beyond that. 

“Hey,” says Angie easily. “At least you got a proper job. Twelve years, I've been waiting for Broadway to come calling me as loudly as I’m calling it. So far, nothing more than a couple non-speaking roles in off-off-Broadway productions of Oklahoma.”

“I’m sure you’ll get your break eventually,” says Peggy. “Those directors don’t know what they’re missing.”

Angie laughs, loud and happy and clear. “Thanks for the vote of support, Peg.”

Peggy’s breath catches in her throat, and she sets the mug down before she can drop it. _Peg_. She hasn’t been called Peg in a very long time. Not since Howard.

“Gee. Sorry, English.” Angie’s face is pulled into a frown. “Something I said?”

“No,” manages Peggy. “Just… sorry. Memories.”

Angie smiles wryly. “Got a lot of those?” 

“Not as many as I’d like,” replies Peggy honestly. To anyone else, it probably sounds like she wishes she’s done more with her life; visited other countries, experienced more. But she’s been around the world plenty, and she’s experienced more than enough. She just wishes there wasn’t a giant six-year-shaped hole where her life should be.

She checks her watch again. “I should probably get going. Don’t want to be late on my first day.”

“Of course!” says Angie, patting her apron down. “Good luck, English. I’m sure you won’t need it.”

The precinct is totally different. She’d been expecting it, of course, but it still throws her. Gone is the ugly yellow wallpaper; gone are the broken window blinds; gone is Nick Fury from his office; gone is everything from her old desk.

Her old desk. It’s someone else’s desk, now— pens and notebooks and files strewn across it. Personal touches, too. A rubber band ball. A couple of small picture frames. 

She checks her watch again, like it’s going to tell her how to deal with all this. When she looks up, she spots somebody in Fury’s office, waving her over. She takes a deep breath, and starts.

Maria Hill is a year older than her, a couple of inches taller, and a good deal more comfortable. This office is clearly hers — Peggy can see a photo of her and her brother on the desk, a small framed picture of a woman that must be her mum. There are other things, too. A cup of steaming black coffee. A red spiral-bound notebook.

“Welcome back, Detective Carter,” she says. Maria Hill is known for being the ice queen. Peggy knows she learnt long ago, as they all did, how hard it was going to be to make her way as a woman in the world. Maria’s approach to that particular problem was to not let anything get within three feet of her, and to never, ever, show what she perceived as weakness. But Maria’s voice is almost soft now.

“It’s good to see you again, Ser— Captain Hill.” They’d met eight years ago, when Peggy had been twenty-five, only a year on the job, and Maria hadn’t been much more experienced. Maria had been promoted to sergeant two years later, and they’d always been friends. More than friends. The whole team they’d worked with had been like their family.

“I know this must not be easy for you, Peggy,” Maria says. “But everyone should mostly be proceeding as normal. You ever need something, stop by and ask me.”

“What about my desk?” Peggy asks, her eyes glancing over at the desk that used to be hers.

Maria points at another desk, this one totally empty, right next to the break room. “That one’s yours. Carol’s is right there, if you have any trouble.”

Peggy has no problem identifying Carol’s desk. It’s covered in photos of her and her wife and daughter, and drawings and artwork that are clearly the little girl’s work. It suddenly hits her that she doesn’t know Carol’s daughter’s name.

“Thank you, sir,” she says. They’re friends — will always be friends. But at work, there’s a certain formality required. Expected. Maria will be sir, when she’s addressing her, when they’re in the precinct. When they go out to the bar, to their apartments, to the gym — then she can be Maria.

A red headed woman has just walked in and sits at Peggy’s not-desk. “New detective, sir?” she asks, then mentally kicks herself. No. Not new.

“She’s been here two years,” answers Maria, but there’s no malice, no judgement. “Natasha Romanoff. Her partner is Clint Barton— he’s always late.” She quirks an eyebrow. “They work well together.”

“Will I have a partner, sir?” Peggy tries not to sound apprehensive, even nervous. 

“I thought under the circumstances, you and Sergeant Danvers would probably have each others’ backs.” Maria smiles knowingly. She nods her head toward the elevator. “You may want to go and say hi.”

Thanking her, Peggy leaves the office, and finds herself crushed in a hug from the taller blonde woman. “Good to have you back, Peggy!”

“Nice to see you too, Carol,” she says, a real smile on her face. “You’ll have to update me on everything. Maria says we’ll be working together.”

“Don’t think I didn’t protest,” teases Carol. “Stuck with you? She’s not making herself popular as Captain, I can tell you that.”

Carol and Peggy have been friends ever since Peggy’s first day at work. Carol had always been Fury’s favourite, despite his protests, yet Peggy had got her out of trouble more times than either of them could count.

“Do you still have that monster of a cat?” Peggy asks, perching on Carol’s cluttered desk. She picks up a photo of Carol and her family, smiling at the domesticity of it all.

“Yeah,” says Carol fondly. “Monica loves the little devil.” 

_Monica_. So that’s Carol’s daughter. She’d heard from Daniel that Carol and her old girlfriend Maria Rambeau had rekindled their relationship. They’d got married four years ago. Monica looks about eleven, from the photo.

Nestled next to the photo she’d just picked up is an older-looking snapshot. She picks it up, her eyes pricking. It’s a picture of the two of them in front of Howard’s old plane— the Captain America. Carol had been a pilot, and she’d taught Peggy how to fly it. The first time Howard had let her fly it home for Christmas, she’d never come back.

“You still have this.” It’s not a question; it’s a fact. She still has this. She’s never forgotten. Never given up.

“Course,” says Carol, shrugging. “My whole family is on this desk, Peggy. That includes you.”

Oh, great. Now she really is going to cry. Before she can start inelegantly bawling in front of the entire precinct, there’s a hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” says Natasha Romanoff politely. “I’m Natasha.”

“Peggy Carter,” says Peggy, a little superfluously. Everyone here knows who she is. She stands up and shakes Natasha’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Carol’s told me about you.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“All good things,” says Peggy reassuringly. 

“Sorry about my partner,” Natasha says. “It’s like he runs to his own clock.”

“Let me guess,” says Peggy wryly. “Half an hour behind everyone else?”

“I’m not sure it’s entirely as linear as that,” laughs Natasha. “He’ll be here eventually.”

Peggy nods, businesslike. “Any exciting cases you’re working on?” she asks, excited to get going.

“Got a call about ten minutes ago,” says Carol, waving her phone. “There’s a body in a dumpster a couple of blocks away.”

Peggy can’t help but smile, despite the depressing news. This is what she’s good at — homicides, and murder, and catching the killer. Six years can change a lot of things, but it can’t change the fact that she’s damn good at her job.

“Shall we get going?”


	3. maybe i want to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel comes over for dinner, and Peggy's mind is on her case.

It’s ten to seven and her mind is busy thinking about the murder victim. 

It’s her first case, and she wants to solve it quickly. His name is Mario Benitez and he was strangled and left in a dumpster. It’s a fairly mundane case, with all the usual suspects — a cheating girlfriend, a disgruntled employer, an all-too-innocent best friend. She’s got a gut feeling, but she’s not ready to act on it until she gets a lot more information. Still, she can’t help but think, her gut feelings are often right.

It’s seven o’clock and her doorbell rings.

She opens it and smiles.

“Hi, Daniel.” She lets him in. There’s a pot of pasta boiling on the stove and garlic bread baking in the oven. He’s brought a bottle of wine and she carefully sits it on the side.

“Hey, Peggy. How was your first day back?”

“Good,” she says truthfully. “We caught a murder. Guy was left in a dumpster.”

“Ouch,” says Daniel, pulling a face. “Got any leads?”

“A few,” she says. “And a gut feeling.”

Daniel smiles. They’d been partners, back in the day. He knows all about her gut feelings. “You’ll catch him,” he says easily.

Peggy nods, giving the pasta a stir.

“And the non-dead people you had to interact with?” he asks. She gives a wry smile where he can’t see it. Daniel’s always known her. Maybe better than she knows herself.

“It was nice to see Carol and Maria again,” she admits. “And the new detectives — Romanoff, and Barton. They’re not so bad. Barton is a little immature, but he’s good. And Romanoff is excellent.”

“But it’s weird, huh?” prompts Daniel. Peggy sighs.

“Yes. It’s weird. I’ve been gone for six years, Daniel. Carol is a sergeant. She has a wife, and a daughter. I’ve just got a hole.”

“You have friends,” says Daniel softly. “We’ll help you put your life back together, Peggy. I promise.”

Peggy shrugs noncommittally. “Have you ever been to the L&L automat?” she asks, changing tack.

“I don’t think so,” says Daniel, bemused. “Why?”

Peggy looks back at him. “It’s sweet,” she says. “Very forties.”

Daniel’s face lifts like something has occurred to him. “You like it.”

“I do,” she says. “The waitress was very friendly.”

“What was her name?” 

“Angie.” Peggy smiles a little at the memory. “Besides, they serve excellent rhubarb crumble. I might go back.”

“You should,” says Daniel, pushing gently. 

Peggy knows where he’s going. “I know. It’s nice to have someone who didn’t know me before.”

They stay in companionable silence for a few moments, while Peggy checks the simmering bolognese. 

“Can I do something?” asks Daniel, and Peggy nods.

“Cutlery’s in that drawer over there,” she says, pointing to it with her elbow. “I’m certain you’re capable of setting it out. And the plates are in that cupboard.”

She’s been living in this apartment for six weeks and it’s beginning to feel like hers. She knows where the meagre crockery is, where she keeps all her clothes (the few that she has — that reminds her, she really needs to go shopping), where to avoid sharp corners of coffee tables in the dark. The bed is a little too soft and a little too big, but she’s slowly getting used to it. She doesn’t have much in the way of possessions, but she’s ordered a few books online and they’re beginning to fill the bookcase. She’d asked Carol for some old photos, too, and she’s tacked them to a cork board above her bed. It’s not much, but it goes a long way to making the place feel lived in.

“Have you seen your brother?” Daniel asks.

Peggy shrugs. “He came by while I was in the hospital. Stayed for a fairly long time. But he’s got a wife back in London, and kids. We talk on the phone.”

“That’s nice,” offers Daniel. Peggy smiles.

“Yes,” she agrees. “It is.” She pauses for a second. “I’ve seen my cousin Sharon, too. Apparently she works as a private investigator now.”

“Do all Carter women find work in security?” Daniel asks, amusement in his eyes. Peggy just laughs, thinking of the work she’d done for the army before beginning her job at the NYPD.

“Speaking of. How’s work?” she asks Daniel. Some time over the last six years, he’s become a federal agent, which impresses Peggy almost as much as it amuses her. He had been an excellent police officer. He’d been patient and observant and clever, and although his leg had made it harder for him to physically go after the bad guys, he’d caught just as many as anyone else. His arrest rate had been one of the best in the precinct. She’s not sure what had triggered the transfer from the NYPD to the FBI, but she can picture him there, all dark suits and out-of-place braces, standing in front of an excitingly modern computer screen.

That’s another thing she’s missed. Technology. When she’d gone under, the latest thing had been the iphone 5S. Now… she doesn’t even know where to start. It does her head in. Even the precinct has more up-to-date files, so they can check a DMV record or a bank statement in seconds. The fingerprint data comes back quicker than she’s finished inputting it. Even the whiteboard used in her trusty murder boards has been given an upgrade, with fancy new pens and a spray to clean it off. Whatever happened to toilet paper snagged from the loo?

“Oh, the job’s pretty much the same,” he says, waving. “A lot of boring things, and occasionally a nugget of gold.”

“And Rose?” Rose had chosen to ditch the NYPD’s administrative section for a far more exciting job in the Bureau not long after Daniel, as Peggy had heard it told. In fact, a fair few of her colleagues had ended up in the agency. Jack Thompson from Robbery, notably, was no longer around to poke his head in on her cases and ask her to sort his files. Krezminski had gone over too, but he’d been killed in action a couple of years back. She can’t deny it messes with her head. She’d never liked him much, but he’s dead. He’s been dead for years, and she’d had no idea.

“She’s actually teaching a couple of courses up at Quantico,” Daniel relates. “She’d come see you if she could. I think you should expect a visit next time the holidays roll round.” He pauses. “Actually, I think she’s met someone up there. A… Dr Samberly. He teaches something on forensics.”

Idly, Peggy laments the fact that all her friends seem to be in relationships. Totally unbidden, and totally inexplicably, Angie’s face pops into her head.

“How’s Violet?” she asks, trying to cover up her momentary fluster. Daniel’s face splits into a wide grin. He’s told her that he met Violet two years ago, after an incident at work had him in hospital in need of a couple of stitches. As if by some trick of fate, Violet had offered to cover her friend’s shift that night, and they’d completely hit it off. They moved in together last year, and Daniel’s even beginning to consider talking to her about engagement.

“She’s great. Pulled the late shift at the hospital, again, or she’d have been here. I know she’d love to meet you.”

“I’d love to meet her,” replies Peggy, eyebrow raised. “I’ve heard so much from you that she’s beginning to sound more like a superwoman than a regular lady.”

Daniel laughs, low and steady. “Have you seen Steve?” he asks, his tone hesitant.

Peggy stiffens. “He came to see me in the hospital,” she says carefully, her voice giving nothing away.

“And?” Daniel prompts.

“And what, Daniel?” asks Peggy, unable to mask her irritation. “I’ve been gone six years. He thought I was dead. He’s moved on.”

“It’s weird for him too, Peggy,” Daniel says. She knows he’s right. She really had loved Steve, and Steve really had loved her. But he moved on a long time ago. And it’s time for her to do the same. 

The compass feels heavy in her pocket. She really needs to take his picture out of that. Maybe, she tells herself, maybe she can change it for someone else. Her friends, maybe. Her brother.

“I know.” She sits down, head in her hands. “I know. But he has a life. He has Bucky.” She shrugs her shoulders. “I’m happy for them. I think they were always meant to end up together.”

“Do you believe in that?” asks Daniel, voice quiet. “Meant to be?”

Peggy thinks of her chance meeting in the diner this morning.

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “Maybe. Maybe I want to.”

Daniel smiles softly. “Fate is a funny thing, Peg.”

Peggy sighs, the familiar nickname dislodging tears from her eyelashes. “God, Daniel. I’ve been gone so long. Everything is different.”

“I know, Peggy.” In a moment he’s by her side, arms around her, as she buries her head in his chest.

“Howard’s gone,” she chokes out. “Dooley’s gone. Rose is in a different state, and Jarvis is in a different country, and Fury’s chief, and Phil’s at the 19th and everyone’s different but me.”

Daniel’s hands rub up and down her back. “I’m so sorry, Peg.”

She sniffs, letting out a pitiful laugh. “God. I must look a mess.” She pulls away, runs a hand through her brown hair.

“It’s totally understandable, Peggy,” says Daniel. “You’re going through a lot. I just want you to know that we’re all here for you.”

“Thank you,” Peggy says quietly. She stands up and grabs the bottle from the side, pulling two glasses from the cupboard. “Shall we have that wine now?”


	4. something like twenty to life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper takes Peggy wardrobe shopping. A chance comment leads to a big break.

Peggy sits on her bed, staring forlornly at her open closet. 

When she’d been found on the side of the road, all she’d had on her was a tattered shirt and half-ripped leggings. Clearly, she’d had to make some adjustments, and Carol had brought her a few items to carry her over. A couple of graphic T-shirts, and plain coloured shirts. Leggings, a pair of jeans, actual trousers. A black blazer. It was all normal, and nice, and formal, but it wasn’t exactly her.

She glances at the phone lying next to her on the bed. She knows exactly who she should ask to help her out, but she hesitates. She’s never exactly been one for bulk clothes shopping, and she doesn’t want this to be a big deal. She just wants to get it over with.

But… Right now, she’s in these clothes that aren’t hers, an apartment that she’s still settling into, in a job she apparently hasn’t done for six years. She needs something to make her feel like herself again. Catching Mario Benitez’s killer might help, but they’re still a little while off that big break yet. So she picks up the phone and scrolls through her contacts to find the right number.

“Hi, Peggy!” Pepper’s voice sounds almost surprised. “What’s up?”

Peggy breathes out. “I have a wardrobe emergency.”

The shopping mall is bigger than Peggy remembers, with expansions and extensions and new stores everywhere she looks. It’s a little overwhelming, and she stands still in the lobby for a moment, trying to take everything in.

“Take a moment,” says Pepper kindly. “It must be really different.”

Peggy nods, swallowing. The coffee bar in the middle of the room is now a fancy juice shop, and the Gap that had been just off left has turned into a jewellery store. “I don’t know where anything is,” she says helplessly.

“That’s okay,” says Pepper. “I do.” She leads Peggy to a small store on the first floor, something quiet and out of the way. 

“This one’s a little eclectic,” comments Pepper. “I thought we’d work our way up to the big department stores.”

Peggy appreciates it. The store itself is tiny, as well as the apparent clientele, and it sells a lot of rainbow tie-dye and beaded jewellery. But Peggy comes away with a nice white blouse, and a deep red skirt to go with it.

Next, Pepper takes her to a second-hand shop, smiling. “I remember your kind of style, Peggy,” she says teasingly. “You wouldn’t stand out if we time-traveled back in time seventy years.”

“Are you saying I dress like my grandmother?” asks Peggy indignantly. “I’ll have you know my outfits are the height of style.”

“Mm, for the Blitz, maybe,” murmurs Pepper. Peggy shoots her a look, but then something catches her eye.

“Oh,” she whispers. It’s a gorgeous red dress, with a cross in the front and ruched sleeves. It’s a truly beautiful shade and she can’t take her eyes off it.

“Try it on,” says Pepper softly. Peggy turns around, embarrassed.

“No, that’s quite all right. I don’t need a fancy dress, it’s not like I have anywhere to wear it.”

“That doesn’t matter,” says Pepper. “Come on, Peggy. Everyone needs to be able to feel pretty.”

Peggy glances at the dress. Pepper is right, she supposes. Every day she prides herself on being neat, and practical, and stylish, but it’s not very often she gets a chance to say she feels pretty. Carefully, she takes the dress down from the rack, and clutches it to her chest.

“You’re sure?” she asks Pepper. Pepper just nods, smiling encouragingly.

“Try it on.”

The zip at the back is a little fiddly, but she manages it, and she comes out of the tiny changing room self-consciously, holding her arms out to let Pepper see. The dress is fitted in all the right places, and the skirt swishes around her legs freely. It’s perfect.

“Well?” she asks.

“Peggy, you look stunning,” says Pepper, a huge smile on her face. “It’s gorgeous. You’re gorgeous.”

Peggy feels herself blush. “Thank you, Pepper.”

She changes out of it quickly and buys it, along with a couple more blouses and a belt. Pepper is an excellent stylist, as well as an excellent friend.

“You look swell, English,” says Angie the next day, smiling wide. “New clothes?”

“Yes,” says Peggy, sliding onto the seat across from her. Angie places a cup of steaming tea on the counter, the milk already perfectly mixed in. “Thanks, Angie.”

She smooths her blue blouse down, tucking a stray corner into her trousers. Out of the corner of her eye, it almost looks like Angie’s blushing. 

“So,” begins Angie. “Caught the murderer yet?”

“Not yet,” groans Peggy. “This is the third day we’re on the case. I have a gut feeling, but nothing to prove it.”

“I know you’ll get ‘em,” grins Angie, making Peggy smile.

“How’s business this morning?” she asks, glancing around the mostly-empty diner.

“It’ll pick up,” Angie shrugs. “Always does.” She catches sight of someone pushing his way through the doors, and her shoulders slump. “Ah, great.”

“What?” asks Peggy, turning to see. He’s short and has an air of unpleasantness about him. “Angie, does he give you trouble?”

“No more than any of the other guys in here,” she sighs. “God, sometimes I just wanna take my lanyard and strangle him with it.”

Peggy’s about to reply when something clicks into place in her brain. She stares at the lanyard around Angie’s neck and an image of the green visitor’s lanyard she’d been given when they’d visited the victim’s girlfriend at her work flashes into her head. Closing her eyes, she thinks she remembers a similar length of ribbon tangled around some Chinese takeout in the dumpster Benitez had been found in.

“Angie, you’re a star,” she gasps, leaning over the counter to press a quick kiss to her cheek. “I’ve got to go!”

She races out, leaving Angie stunned and confused in her wake. She rushes up to the precinct, pulling out her phone to call CSU.

“Yes, this is Detective Carter, badge number 42631. I’d like a CSU team to go down to the dumpster on Broadway and West 107th.” She grabs Carol’s wrist and makes a “follow me” motion. Hanging up, she turns to Carol’s bemused face.

“I think I’ve found the murder weapon. And if I’m right, it’ll lead us straight to the killer.”

Mario’s girlfriend is waiting uncomfortably in the conference room, the man she’d been having an affair with hovering protectively behind her shoulder.

“What’s going on?” he asks when she enters the room, his face a mask of concern.

“Mr Henry, I understand you visited your girlfriend at her work the day of the murder?”

“Yeah,” shrugs the boyfriend. “So?”

Peggy takes out a still pulled from the security cameras in the building’s lobby. “Is this you?”

“Yeah, that’s him,” says Annie, the girlfriend. “He came to see me.”

“So what?” he replies, beginning to look shifty.

“So,” begins Peggy, “That puts you in possession of our murder weapon.”

“Murder weapon?” cries Annie, as Peggy takes out an evidence bag with a green lanyard inside.

“Fibres in this lanyard were a match to the fibres we found in Mario’s throat,” she says calmly. “If you have a look, Mr Henry, the card on this lanyard says that the visitor came to Annie’s place of work at three fifty.” She pushes the photo closer to him, it’s three fifty time stamp glaringly obvious. “Look familiar?”

He looks frozen for a moment, like he’s deciding whether he can feign ignorance. Clearly he decides he can’t, because he snaps.

“Look, he was getting in the way of me and Annie! We’re meant to be! He had to go,” he snarls. Peggy looks over at Annie, expecting her to be horrified.

“Oh, Francis!” she cries. “That’s so romantic!”

Peggy falters. “I’m sorry?”

“This is true love,” declares Annie. “I’ll wait for you, baby.”

“You’ll be waiting a fairly long time,” says Peggy, raising an eyebrow. “Something like twenty to life. Francis Henry, you’re under arrest for the murder of Mario Benitez.”

As the uniformed officers lead the handcuffed Francis to the holding cells, Peggy goes over to her murder board, lifting the pictures down and pulling the clips off. She feels a sense of pride at solving the murder, but more than that, she feels like maybe things are getting back to normal. She’s always been this — an excellent detective, who gets justice for people who can’t get their own. She smiles.

She’s back.


	5. better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy runs into a familiar face at the diner, and she finally tells Angie the truth.

“Seriously?” asks Peggy incredulously. “Still? Ang, are all the directors in New York City entirely blind?”

Angie laughs. “God, it feels like it. I’ve got another audition on Tuesday, but I’m not holding out hope.”

“If I were a director, you’d be playing the lead in the biggest show on Broadway,” says Peggy sincerely. She takes a sip of her tea. “Or maybe you’d run this entire diner. God, I love you...r tea.”

Angie smiles, cheeks flushed. “Well, thanks, English. I got a lot of practice.”

Peggy grins. “Do you want to split some pie?”

“I’d love to,” says Angie happily.

“Hey!” The short, unpleasant man from a couple of days ago is back, sitting at a table. “Do you work here, or no?”

Angie sighs, giving Peggy a roll of her eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you know how to make scrambled eggs, honey? Because these are not scrambled eggs.”

“I’m just the waitress, sir,” Angie says politely. The man laughs.

“Yeah, that’s right. They just keep you around for your ass.” He slaps it and Angie stiffens, shooting him a cold smile as she takes the plate.

“I’ll get them to make you another, sir.”

Peggy is fuming. This may be a forties-style diner, but it doesn’t mean the patrons can act like it’s actually the forties, with era-typical sexism to go with it. She’s considering the different ways she can intimidate him into never coming back here again, when Angie comes back over.

“Is he a regular, Ang?”

“Yeah,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “But a regular what, I’m not allowed to say on the clock.”

Peggy laughs despite herself. “You’re worth more than that man values you for, okay?”

Angie looks pleased. “I know. But thanks, English. Nice to know someone’s got my back in this place.”

“Always,” smiles Peggy. She hears the door open behind her, but she’s looking at Angie, and she doesn’t turn around.

“Peggy?” The voice is all too familiar, and her breath catches in her throat. She swallows, turning slowly around.

“Steve.” He looks good. He’s tall, and his muscles are more defined, and there’s a sparkle in his eyes he’s been missing for a while. Bucky Barnes stands beside him, his prosthetic arm resting on Steve’s shoulder.

“It’s good to see you,” says Steve. “You look better.”

“Quite,” she says, lifting a shoulder. “I was in the hospital last time. I should hope I look better.”

Steve laughs, and it’s awkward but it’s genuine, and something in her reluctantly relaxes. 

“You can sit,” she says, gesturing to the seats at the counter. Angie is still behind it, quietly cleaning. She gives Peggy a look that says, ‘everything alright?’, and it makes her almost laugh. Because no, it’s not alright. But it’s so very much more complicated than she can explain with a single look.

“How are you?” Steve asks, and it’s kind and open and a little bit guilty.

She pauses. How is she? It would be a lie to say she was alright. She’s still a little lost, and a little on edge, and a little not quite there yet. She still jumps at sudden movements, wakes up in a cold sweat, has to school her breathing when she hears a bang. Sometimes, too, something makes her panic, something she can’t attach a meaningful memory to. There are things that her subconscious remembers that her mind doesn’t. But she’s better than she was when she had been found. Her panic attacks have faded to a fairly irregular occurrence, and she only wakes from nightmares that slip out of her memory as soon as she wakes a couple of times a week.

“Better,” she says finally; honestly. “How about you?” She looks at Bucky, her eyes kind. “Both of you?”

“We’re good,” says Bucky, looking relieved. It’s so easy. He says “we” like they’re part of the same person, like there’s nothing between them at all. It hurts.

“Some of my paintings got accepted to a gallery,” Steve offers. Peggy smiles.

“That’s wonderful, Steve. I’m so glad.”

Bucky ruffles his hair proudly, and his sleeve rides up, exposing a small tattoo on his wrist. It’s faded, like he’s tried to get rid of it, but it’s a skull-faced octopus and suddenly the diner is gone, she’s in a room and her hands are tied behind her back and she hurts, everywhere, and the wall in front of her is spray-painted with the same giant symbol. She can feel her heart beating through her chest, tries desperately to catch her breath but it’s out of control, _she’s_ out of control, and there’s nothing she can do.

“Peggy?” The familiar male voice cuts through the fog and she looks around desperately, trying to find where it’s coming from. “Shit, Peggy! It’s okay. You’re safe.”

She doesn’t believe him, can’t believe him, because she’s not safe, they’re going to come back and they’ll hurt her again and she can’t escape.

“Hey, English?” The new voice is soft and controlled. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s me, Angie. You’re in the L&L automat, remember? New York. 2019. You’re safe.”

“Angie?” Peggy gasps, her brown curls blurry in her vision.

“Yeah! That’s me.” Her voice is full of what sounds like forced optimism. “You’re okay, Peggy. I promise.”

Slowly, she realises she’s in the diner, wobbling on the tall stool. Angie’s come around the counter, close to her, Steve hovering behind her. Bucky’s standing, his face a mask of worry and guilt.

“Sorry,” Peggy manages. “It’s not your fault.”

Bucky’s shoulders become a little less tense, but she can see the concern on all of their faces. Belatedly, she realises they’re not alone in the diner, but luckily the only other patron is Angie’s least favourite customer, and he’s rather low on her list of concerns.

“You okay?” asks Angie gently.

“Yes,” Peggy nods carefully, deliberately counting her breaths. “Yes, I just— shit. I didn’t know I remembered that.”

“You remembered something?” asks Steve quickly. “That’s great, Peggy.”

Peggy’s forehead wrinkles and she bites her lip, and he backtracks.

“Okay, not so great that it caused a flashback. But maybe this means it’ll all come back.”

“Maybe,” she agrees halfheartedly. Maybe she doesn’t want it to.

Steve and Bucky stay around just long enough to make sure she’s okay, but it’s even more awkward now than before, and Peggy’s wary. Why does Bucky have the same tattoo as the place she was being held? Does he have ties to Hydra? Is she ever going to solve this?

Angie’s trying her best to let it go, clearly, but Peggy owes her an explanation. She’s just had a flashback in her diner with very little explanation, and all the conversation with Steve would have only served to confuse her further.

“Do you want to—” she begins awkwardly. “When your shift is over. Do you want to come to my place? I… I owe you the truth.”

Angie smiles, shaking her head. “You don’t owe me anything, English.”

“Then I want to.” Peggy holds her gaze, trying to convey her sincerity. “Let me explain everything.”

Angie pauses for a moment, clearly hesitating, but eventually a smile slips across her face. “Sure thing.”

Peggy’s been living in this apartment for weeks, but it’s like she’s seeing it for the first time now Angie’s here. Suddenly all her books seem wonky, her cutlery’s out of place, and her clothes are in a mess. She shows Angie to the sofa, and they sit together.

“I’ve been a detective since I was twenty-four,” begins Peggy. “I’ve always loved what I do — getting justice for the dead, and keeping the living safe. About seven years ago, I first encountered an organisation called Hydra.” She takes a deep breath. “They’re an alt-right group who deal in weapons trading, murder, drugs trafficking, they even have links to terrorism. I was the lead on the first case we had involving them, and I ended up invested in the case. Every time we came across a case related to them, our Captain would put me on point. I was really getting close. I must have got too close.

“Six years ago, I was flying my friend Howard’s plane home to London for Christmas. I crashed somewhere over the Atlantic. Eight weeks ago, I was found on the side of a road, and I don’t remember anything in between.”

Angie sucks in a breath, her eyes wide. “Geez, English.”

Peggy presses her lips together. “I’ve tried so hard to solve my own case, to put them away for good. But I don’t remember anything. Today, I saw a tattoo that Bucky had, and it… I remembered something. It panicked me.”

“I can tell,” Angie says softly. Peggy shrugs, trying to make it seem like less of a big deal.

“Anyway. That’s me.”

“I didn’t know,” says Angie.

“I know,” says Peggy. “I’m sorry I kept it from you. But… I’m still a little lost. The whole world has moved on six years ahead of me. You… You made me feel like I wasn’t lost any more.” Her cheeks hot, she looks away. “Probably because you didn’t know me before.”

“Probably,” echoes Angie. She reaches out and tilts Peggy’s head up to meet her eyes. “Hey. I’m not gonna look at you any differently now, okay? If you wanna be friends with me to feel less lost, I’m gonna be here.”

Peggy swallows, tears pricking at her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispers.

“No sweat,” says Angie in her usual cheerful manner. She shifts ever so slightly closer to Peggy on the sofa, her knee brushing against Peggy’s. “I promise. I’ll help you find your way.”


	6. we're trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy goes out with her friends, and it's not easy, but they're getting there.

“Ah,” sighs Maria. “Alcohol and nachos and workplace gossip. The perfect Friday evening.”

“Very sorry, Captain,” says Carol, rolling her eyes. “If you have somewhere better to be…”

“Nope,” says Maria, taking a sip of her beer and fixing her eyes on the table. “Guess I’m stuck with you.”

Bobbi smiles, holding in a laugh. “Such a travesty,” she jokes. She nudges Maria under the table with her leg, and Maria mock-glares at her, her cheeks slightly flushed.

“Are we waiting on anyone else?” asks Peggy, unsure. The invitation to the precinct girls’ night has been there since her first day back, but this is the first week she’s actually taken Carol up on her offer. She’s painfully aware that the other girls have been doing this for years, but the others haven’t made her presence a big deal at all. Honestly, she slots right in like she’s never been gone. It’s refreshing. 

“Melinda’s coming,” says Natasha. “You know Mel, right? From the 19th.”

“Phil’s precinct,” nods Peggy. “Yes, I remember her.”

“I remember you too,” says Melinda May from behind her. “Good to see you again, Carter.”

Peggy’s phone buzzes, and she checks the text quickly.

_Angie: hope you have a good night out with the girls. have a wild time ;)  
Angie: seriously, english. enjoy yourself._

She smiles.

“What are you smiling at?” asks Bobbi, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“No,” corrects Carol. “Who is she smiling at?”

Peggy laughs. “It’s just Angie. She says we should have a ‘wild’ time.”

“Oh, tell her not to worry,” says Carol, eyes glinting. “We always do.”

_Peggy: I promise we will._

“Everyone got drinks?” asks Maria, taking charge despite the informal setting. “Good.”

Peggy traces her fingers up the side of her glass. She has a wonderfully English scotch, and it makes her think of Jarvis. Her friend, Jarvis. They’ve called a couple of times, but he’s in England, and she’s here. She swallows. It’s hard, thinking about Jarvis. It’s not quite right without Howard there.

“Did I tell you about my new intern?” asks Bobbi. “He’s such a pain. Just a kid, fresh out of high school, and he thinks he can run the lab.”

“I think I got a report from him,” says Natasha. “Handwriting so bad even Clint struggled to decipher it. And you know how bad Clint’s writing is.”

Peggy doesn’t, actually, but she pushes down her discomfort. 

“Anyway, he’s an arrogant, entitled prick,” says Bobbi coolly, and out of the corner of Peggy’s eye, she sees Maria cough on her drink. “Thinks he can do my job better than I can.”

“There’s a reason you’re head Medical Examiner of the state and he’s still in med school,” says Maria, her tone sarcastic. But, thinks Peggy, there’s a hint of something genuine there too.

“Do you remember that detective we had a couple of years back?” asks Carol, wrinkling her nose. “Arrogant, entitled…”

Bobbi laughs wryly. “Honestly, this intern’s a saint compared to him.”

The whole table is laughing, and even Melinda’s cracked a smile, and they all seem to get the joke. It makes sense to them, because they’ve been here. And she hasn’t. She mumbles something, an incoherent excuse, and pushes her chair back.

It’s possibly not the most dignified of hiding places, but the girls’ bathroom is a safe, private place to catch her breath and contemplate her misery. They’re having an excellent time together. Of course they are. They’re friends. They have six years of history together that she can’t begin to touch. They probably haven’t even noticed she’s gone.

“Peggy?” 

For a second, Peggy doesn’t recognise the voice. When she realises it’s Natasha, she’s surprised. Natasha is new to her and not to her friends. She’s polite and nice but they’re not close. Not the way the others are.

Peggy clears her throat. “Coming,” she says. She pushes open the door and leans against the frame. “Natasha.”

“Call me Nat,” she says, a small smile on her face. “Just wanted to check you were okay.”

“Fine.” Peggy shrugs.

Nat lifts an eyebrow, clearly not buying it for a second. “It’s okay, you know. It’s not going to be easy.”

Peggy could laugh. Damn right, it’s not going to be easy. Because she’s got a job and an apartment and a therapist and friends who really care about her and it’s not enough. There’s something missing. Something she can’t get back. Maybe something she never will.

“I know,” is all she says.

“We’re trying.” Nat’s not mincing her words, and Peggy is grateful. “We’re trying to include you. We’re not perfect. And it sucks that we have to try at all. But it’s going to be weird for a little while. You just have to put up with it until it gets better.”

She pauses, shrugging. “Any one of us would tell you the context of a story you don’t understand. You just have to ask.”

It’s unmistakably a call-out, and Peggy’s half-prepared to be indignant. This kid doesn’t know her. She doesn’t get to call her out on her behaviour.

But then again, someone has to. And Peggy appreciates that Nat’s so straightforward, so open. After all, she supposes, she is right.

“Thank you, Nat.” Peggy steps out from the doorframe and gives Nat a grateful look.

“Come on,” Nat says, extending what might be a hand or what might be an olive branch. “They’re ordering nachos. If we don’t get back soon, Carol will grab all the hot salsa.”

Nat’s right — by the time they get back to the table, the hot salsa is mostly finished, and Carol has red smudges around the corner of her mouth.

“So how’s Phil?” asks Carol as the two of them sit down. “I haven’t seen him in forever.”

“And the team?” chips in Nat. “The kids still giving you trouble?”

“The kids have never given anyone trouble in their lives,” says Bobbi with a smirk.

Melinda raises a single eyebrow. “I’m still trying to pretend to be oblivious to the blatant fraternisation between our junior medical examiner and our newest detective,” she says.

Nat leans over. “The 19th seems to collect all the tiniest recruits. Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz, Grant Ward, Skye Johnson. Bobbi used to work with them back in the day.”

“And,” continues Melinda. “Somebody seems to have given Skye the idea for what essentially mount to glorified freshers pranks.” She shoots a glare at Bobbi. “Her and Fitz have engaged in a full-out war. I pulled my gun on a mop they’d hidden behind a cupboard door the other day.”

“Sorry,” sings Bobbi, but she looks anything but. “Come on, Mel. They’re kids. Let them have a good time.”

“Oh yeah?” asks Maria. “Like how I let you get away with keeping alcohol in the morgue fridge?”

“Ew!” yelps Nat.

Peggy wrinkles her forehead. “That’s disgusting, Morse.”

Bobbi throws her hands up in protest. “Hey, it’s not the one I keep body parts in!”

“Like that’s any better,” scoffs Carol. “And hey, Hill, how do you know she keeps it there if she hasn’t shared?”

Maria swallows her drink quickly. “I was looking for the evidence,” she says defensively.

Bobbi laughs under her breath. “Sure,” she murmurs. Maria’s shoulders move in a way that suggests her leg has just shot out very fast, and Bobbi’s wince proves Peggy’s theory. She bites back a smile.

“How’s Monica?” she asks Carol. “And Maria?”

“Oh, they’re doing great,” says Carol proudly. “Monica’s doing a school project on the wars in Iraq. She thinks it’s awesome her mom can give her first hand intel.”

“Well, if she ever needs a second source,” says Peggy, smiling. “I’d love to meet her.”

“Why don’t you come round for dinner?” suggests Carol. “Maria makes an excellent steak. I know Monica would love to hear about the work you did.”

“It was mostly paperwork,” says Peggy, the familiar lie falling off her tongue. She can’t exactly announce to the whole bar that she was a top intelligence officer, working with codebreaking divisions. She definitely can’t tell them all that she spent four months undercover. But she can probably let Monica in on a couple of her secrets. And, well, if the meeting ends with Monica learning how to send coded texts her mothers will never be able to interpret, that’s Monica’s business.

“I’d love to meet them,” Peggy acquiesces, tilting her head. 

Next to her, Nat gasps in a long, dramatic breath. “Oh my god,” she says.

“What?”

“I just realised Peggy doesn’t know any modern memes.”

Bobbi rolls her eyes, and Peggy frowns.

“That’s like… those things with the grumpy cat in them, right?”

“Oh my god!” gasps Nat, wheezing with laughter. “I’m gonna show you so many memes.”

“And music,” Carol chips in. “Six years of music we can fill you in on.”

“Sorry,” says Maria, dryly amused. “Your music tastes consist of everything from the nineties and nothing later. You consider Wonderwall to be the height of culture.”

“That’s because it is!” says Carol, eyes narrowing.

“Don’t worry,” says Nat conspiratorially. “I’ll show you the proper way to experience the culture you’ve missed.”

Two scotches and three hours later, they’re all piled in her apartment in front of her TV, the credits for Moana rolling silently with Uptown Funk playing loudly from Nat’s phone.

Peggy glances over at everyone. Maria’s sitting next to her on the sofa, Bobbi on the floor, leaning her head against her legs. Nat’s curled up tight on the other side of the sofa, phone in hand. Carol’s sprawled across a beanbag in the corner, half-asleep. Melinda’s sitting in the armchair, an expression of almost-fond exasperation on her face. 

Maybe they’ve had six years and she hasn’t been part of it. But she’s not just reclaiming the culture by watching animated Disney movies. She’s reclaiming part of the connection she should have had.

And looking around at the girls, spread out across her living room, she feels like maybe she can be a part of this again. Maybe.


	7. do you really think it's you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New information comes to light, and Peggy thinks she's ready to face it.
> 
> She's wrong.

It starts off like any other case.

The victim’s name is Harriet Ancia and she’s found in an abandoned alley two blocks from where she lives with her mum. She’s been hit over the head with something, and Bobbi’s in the morgue right now identifying the cause of death, but it looks like blunt force trauma. She’s just a kid, in a bad part of town. It seems like it’s going to be pretty open and shut.

“Hey, Bob,” says Peggy easily as she enters the morgue. “Got anything for me?”

“COD is blunt force trauma, like we suspected,” relates Bobbi. “She’s got a broken arm too, and some bruises on her skin. Looks like she was in a fight before she died. I’m trying to pull DNA from the fingernails.”

“Thanks,” says Peggy. In the corner of the room, she spots a blue jacket that she’s sure isn’t Bobbi’s.

“Actually, maybe you can help with something,” says Bobbi quickly, diverting her attention. “I found this tattoo on her stomach. Maybe you know what gang it comes from.”

Bobbi pulls the sheet back, tugs the shirt up, and that grinning octopus is staring her in the face again. Bucky’s tattoo flashes through her vision, followed by the spray-painted wall and a blurry man, the tattoo clear under his rolled-up sleeve. He says something, and his tone is dangerous and threatening and she’s powerless.

Something crashes to the floor behind her and she whirls around, breathing hard. An empty beaker lies in broken shards across the floor, and Bobbi’s there, forehead furrowed.

“It’s okay,” she says. “You don’t have to worry. You’re safe.”

Peggy nods, swallowing. Her throat is dry. “I’ve seen that before,” she says, her voice cracked. “That’s a symbol of Hydra.”

“Really?” says Bobbi. “It’s only got one head. Guess they don’t actually know how mythology works.” Peggy exhales in a shaky half-laugh, and Bobbi’s smiles. “I’ll take you at your word. You think this case is connected, then?”

“I do,” says Peggy, and her voice is determined. “I’m going to do it, Bobbi. I’m finally going to take them down.”

“What do you mean, ‘off the case’?”

“You know what I mean, Peggy,” says Maria calmly. “Look, I’m not telling you to get out and go home. I just want to know if you’re ready for this.”

“Of course I’m ready for this!” says Peggy angrily. “This is what I’ve been waiting for since I got back. This is my chance to take them down.”

Maria breathes out, her eyes tired. “If you’re sure,” she says. “Do me a favour, though. Call your therapist.”

Peggy bristles. “Fine. First, I’ve got to make a phone call.”

Bucky is flighty and hesitant and jumpy. “I haven’t been involved with Hydra in a very long time.”

“But you were,” presses Peggy. “You used to be with them.”

“I got out,” Bucky says. “I joined the army. I’m not going back to that.”

“I’m not asking you to,” says Peggy. “I just need intel. I need to know who to go after.”

“You can’t go after these guys, Peggy,” says Bucky, his voice genuinely scared. Peggy was in Iraq with Bucky. They’ve faced mines and bombs and bullets. This is the first time she’s ever heard him sound scared. “You can’t touch them. You try, and they’ll put you under.”

“They tried that,” replies Peggy hotly. “I’m still here.”

She’s at home, on her sofa, Angie sitting next to her with a glass of peach schnapps. It’s quiet; the TV is playing the news softly in the background, but neither of them are paying it much attention. She wants to be working, should be working, but Maria had sent her home when it got too late, and made her leave all her files at the precinct. “Rest,” she’d said. “Come back fresh tomorrow. She’ll still be dead then.”

Peggy is restless, though. This is the first she’s seen of Hydra in months, and it’s put her on edge. Every movement makes her jump, every sound puts her heart in her throat. So far, they can’t tie Harriet’s death to anyone. Hydra is clean and efficient and something doesn’t sit quite right with Peggy. This is too clumsy, too botched. But the clean-up is effective. She’s not entirely sure what they’re sitting on here, and that bothers her.

“I can see you thinking,” says Angie gently. Peggy starts.

“Sorry, Ang.”

“It’s okay,” she says quickly. “I know your mind’s somewhere else. I’d expect it to be. Just… Don’t get lost in there, okay, English? I — We’ve all got your back. You don’t need to do this alone.”

“Thank you, Angie.” She really means it. It’s hard — she’s jumpy and restless and she’s not quite okay, but her team has her back. Carol’s there to bring her a bottle of water, Maria to remind her to go home, and Nat to fold away the papers when she’s done with them. They’re all there for her.

And Angie. Angie is there for her in a way nobody else can quite match. She feels safe with Angie. It’s bizarre, given that she’s the one with the gun, but Angie’s safe and gentle and soft. With Angie, she doesn’t have to pretend, doesn’t have to lie. 

A single tear slips down her cheek and Angie gently brushes it off. Peggy rests her head on Angie’s shoulder, her gaze distractedly flicking back to the TV.

She sits bolt upright. “Shit,” she gasps, and it feels like all the air is being squeezed out of her lungs. That man— the man she’d remembered in the autopsy room today, the one who’d been there in her missing years — he’s on TV. He’s on TV right now, he’s right there, and everyone can see him.

“What’s wrong?” asks Angie worriedly, but Peggy can barely hear her over her racing breath.

“That’s him,” she says. “He’s involved. I have to go.”

“Him?” asks Angie incredulously, pointing at the TV like Peggy’s a nutter.

“Yes,” she breathes. “Senator Alexander Pierce.”

“Senator Pierce,” she says coolly. “A word?”

She leads him away from the campaign party, into a darkened office she’s pretty sure nobody will want to come back to. 

“You’re that detective,” he says, apparently interested. “From the news. Six years missing. Carter, wasn’t it?”

“My name is _Detective_ ,” she corrects him.

“I hear you don’t remember anything, Detective,” he says. It might be her imagination, but he looks almost smug.

“Not quite,” she says, and enjoys the way his eyes widen for just a flicker of a second. “I remember you, Senator.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Peggy surges forwards, slamming her hands against his chest. His back hits up against the wall, but he’s not scared, not even fazed. He’s just smirking.

She backs away, sucking in a breath. “I know you were there, Senator. I remember you. I know you’re in with Hydra, maybe you even run it. I know what you’re involved with. I know what you’ve done.”

“You don’t know anything about me, Carter,” he snarls, his face close to hers. “Besides. I’m a State Senator. I’m planning on running for President. You’re a traumatised NYPD cop with a history of skirting the rules and a six year period of your life nobody can account for. Who are they going to believe, Carter? Do you really think it’s you?”

She’s breathing heavily, her fingers curled so tightly into her palms she can feel the circles cutting into her skin.

“You have no value next to me, Carter,” he says quietly. “The only reason you’re not dead right now is because someone’s calling in a favour. You’d better pray your luck doesn’t run out.”

He turns and strides away. Peggy stands still, watching him leave. When he’s out of her eyeline, she turns, lets out an angry yell, and punches the desk, hard, then punches it again. Her bloody knuckles hurt, but, she supposes, it’s still a little better than punching a presidential candidate.

She pulls out her phone, and presses the contacts list, her breath tight and her vision blurry.

“Hello?” comes Maria’s voice, disoriented and confused.

“I’m not ready, Maria,” Peggy says, her voice catching. “I’m not ready.”

It turns out that Harriet Ancia’s death had nothing to do with Hydra at all. She’d worked with them, been an enforcer under a program Carol manages to get Bucky to admit they’d called Centipede, but she’d been killed by her own mother after coming out as gay, after a long history of childhood abuse. It was a sloppy, violent, passionate killing, but Hydra had been there to clean up the mess. No DNA, no fibres, no evidence. 

The next day, Mrs Ancia is found dead in her bed, a bullet between her eyes. The department protests, but there’s no evidence. Her case continues to gather dust in the cold cases unit.

Peggy takes a day off, wraps her knuckles, takes a while to just breathe. Angie comes over too, to talk and sit and just be there, and Peggy’s angry and afraid and confused and betrayed and she just doesn’t know any more.

She’s not dead. But why not? Who’s looking out for her? She’s free, for now, but so is Senator Pierce. Hydra’s free.

And the question that keeps taking up her mind, occupying all her waking thoughts and every nightmare.

What can she do about it?


	8. i want to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy spends an evening with Carol and her family, and Monica brings about some interesting revelations.

Carol’s house is sweet and domestic and it makes an odd kind of sense. She lives on the outskirts of the city, in a large house with a huge barn next to it. Carol tells her that it used to be a farmhouse, but there are no longer any animals except for the cat, Goose, and the plane they call the “bird”.

Maria is pleasant and her and Carol seem so perfect together. Maria’s the sense to Carol’s impulse, and Carol’s the mischief to Maria’s level-headedness. Monica is a perfect mixture of the two of them. She has Carol’s excitement and cheekiness, but enough of Maria’s sense that she clearly never lets herself get caught. Peggy spots her sneaking crisps from the bowl on the table at least three times, but doesn’t say anything. 

Actually, Peggy thinks, Monica reminds her a lot of Carol. It’s not just the brown leather jacket she’s wearing that clearly used to belong to Carol, or the red graphic T-shirt, or the polaroids she keeps in her pockets. It’s her smile, and the cheek in her eyes, and the jokes she makes. It’s really sweet.

Goose the cat and Monica the child have a very interesting and very amusing relationship, and Peggy can’t help but be morbidly fascinated. Monica talks to the cat as though it was a human that could understand exactly what she was saying to it, and the cat meows at all the right points. _”That’s because he’s not a cat,”_ says Monica seriously. _”He’s an alien from outer space called a Flerken. He has tentacles.”_

“So, how’s work?” Maria asks Carol. “Any interesting cases?”

“We found a body in a vegetable garden today,” suggests Carol. “Luckily someone spotted it before anyone tried to eat the vegetables.”

“It could have gone very wrong,” adds Peggy, laughing. “Although I have heard that the calcium in bones makes an excellent fertiliser.”

Carol raises an eyebrow. “Did you hear that on Doctor Who?” She turns to her wife. “That’s pretty much the thing she’s most upset about having missed. All the seasons of Doctor Who.”

“Sorry,” says Peggy, “last time I watched the show, Matt Smith was still the Doctor. She’s a woman now!”

“What’s Doctor Who?” asks Monica curiously.

“About the most British TV show you can imagine,” teases Carol.

“That’s unfair,” protests Peggy. “That blatantly ignores Eastenders.”

Monica tilts her head. “What’s it about?”

“Eastenders, or Doctor Who?” Peggy has a vivid image of trying to explain a convoluted soap opera plot she’s missed six years of and had never really paid much attention to anyway to an American eleven-year-old.

“Doctor Who,” clarifies Monica.

Peggy smiles. “Aliens, mostly. Aliens and space and time travel.”

“That sounds cool,” says Monica. “Mom, can Peggy show me?”

Maria nods. “If it’s cool with your other mom. It’ll be awhile until dinner anyway.”

Carol tickles Monica, making the girl squeal. “Go watch rubbish British TV. God, Peggy, you’re corrupting my daughter too.”

Peggy winks at Carol. “You should expect nothing less of me.”

Monica grabs her hand and leads her to their sitting room, and lets Peggy turn on the TV. 

Peggy flicks through Netflix until she finds the episode ‘Rose’. She turns to Monica seriously. “Are you ready,” she begins, “to witness the beginning of an era?”

Monica beams, her face alight with enthusiasm. “Absolutely.”

“I’m going to watch _all_ of Doctor Who, Mom,” says Monica determinedly. “Peggy says she’s a girl now and I have to see that.”

Maria rolls her eyes in amusement. “Peggy, what have you done to our daughter?”

“It’s not my fault,” says Peggy, holding her hands up. “Good cinematography speaks for itself.”

Carol leans across the table to press a kiss to Maria’s cheek. “It’s okay. We’ll just indoctrinate Peggy’s theoretical future kids into bad American TV.”

Peggy imagines a future, with Carol sitting on her apartment sofa and two small children curled up into her, Friends playing on her TV. She smiles, imagining herself calling them to dinner, Monica sitting with the kids, eyes bright, as Carol and Maria chat to Peggy and… She blinks, alarmed, and bites her lip. She definitely doesn’t need to be thinking about that right now.

“Speaking of,” says Maria. “How’s your girlfriend, Peggy?”

Peggy chokes on her water, the image of the dinner table back in full force with Angie smiling behind it. “I’m sorry,” she splutters. “What?”

“Angie, isn’t it?” asks Maria. “From the diner.”

“Maria,” says Carol, obviously a little amused. “Angie’s not her girlfriend.”

“Angie is _not_ my girlfriend,” repeats Peggy definitely.

“Do you want her to be?” asks Monica innocently. Peggy’s eyes widen in alarm.

“You can’t ask her that, M!” says Maria. “I’m so sorry, Peggy--”

“That’s okay,” says Peggy, her face softening. She meets Monica’s eyes. “I really like Angie. She’s nice and funny and makes me smile.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Yes,” admits Peggy, her cheeks flushing. “Yes, she’s pretty.”

“It sounds like you want her to be your girlfriend,” says Monica factually.

“It does sound like that, doesn’t it?” replies Peggy, biting her lip. “Maybe I do. Maybe I would like her to be my girlfriend.”

“See?” Monica says to her mom proudly. “Asking was good.”

Carol smiles at Peggy, their eyes meeting. There’s something in her eyes, something a little proud and a little knowing.

“So,” says Peggy, eager to change the subject. “How’s your job going, Maria?”

Carol and Peggy are sitting on a bench in the large shed that houses Maria’s plane. It’s not bright, but it’s not too dark, and Peggy’s relaxed, a drink in one hand and the other around Carol’s waist. Her head rests on the taller woman’s shoulder.

“Would you ever want to fly again?” asks Carol quietly. “In Maria’s plane, maybe.”

“Maybe,” echoes Peggy, uncertain. “Not yet. I’m not there yet.” She pauses. “Is it like riding a horse?”

Carol lets out a bark of a laugh. “What do you mean?”

“Everyone says, if you fall off a horse, you just have to get back on again. Otherwise you’ll never ride again.”

Carol breathes out softly. “Then no. I don’t think it’s like a horse.” She rests her head on top of Peggy’s, and twists her fingers between Peggy’s. “I don’t think you have to be ready to fly again anytime soon. I think being ready to fly is something that’s going to take time, and you shouldn’t beat yourself up for not being there yet.”

Peggy sighs. “We’re not talking about flying any more, are we?”

“What do you think?”

Peggy turns to face Carol, their hands still together. “I think this is about Angie.”

“Is it?”

Peggy lets go of Carol’s hand and shoves her shoulder. “You know it is, Danvers.”

Carol smiles. “Yeah. Okay. Maybe it is.” She shrugs. “Are you ready to give this another go?”

“I don’t know.” Peggy’s shoulders drop. “I don’t know, Carol. I don’t know if I’m ready to move on from Steve. I don’t even know if I’m in a good enough place to deal with a relationship right now.”

“I think that’s something you have to ask yourself,” says Carol. “From what I can see, it looks like you have been doing better. You’re getting there, Peg. But it’s not a question I can answer for you.”

“I like her,” says Peggy quietly. “I really like her.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to mess this up.”

“I know.”

“But-- I want to be with her. I want her to know how much she matters to me.”

“I know, Peggy. And I think she knows -- or at least, suspects -- too.” Carol shrugs. “But are you ready to take that step?”

“I want to be,” says Peggy. “I want to be.”


	9. more than okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy takes Angie to the theatre, and does something she's been waiting to do for a very long time.

Angie said yes, because of course she did. Because it’s Angie and it’s music and it’s theatre. Because they’re friends. Because, she can’t help but hope, there’s something more.

She’s never seen Waitress before. She’s read about it, heard reviews, but she only vaguely knows the plot from Internet descriptions and programme summaries. But it’s about a waitress in a small café who’s destined for so much more, and it’s perfect.

Peggy doesn’t really consider herself a musical theatre person. She liked Les Mis, and Phantom, and slowly Angie’s been introducing her to some more recent musicals. She likes Amèlie. But sitting here, in this huge theatre, the lights just up, the smell of fresh-baked pies drifting from the doors and the notes still hanging in the air; something feels like this is exactly where she’s supposed to be.

And the look on Angie’s face would have made it worth it a million times over, even if she hadn’t grudgingly enjoyed the songs. She’s beaming like this is the best day of her life.

“This is the best day of my life,” she says, her eyes bright. “Thank you so much, Peggy.”

 _Peggy_. Angie never uses her actual name. Never. It makes something catch in Peggy’s throat.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she says, brushing it off. “It’s only the interval. The second act could be rubbish.”

Angie laughs. “It could never be rubbish,” she says. “It’s perfect.”

She’s smiling, so bright and so wide and so gorgeous, and Peggy wants to say something, wants to tell her exactly how her smile makes the whole world light up, how her eyes are the only guidance she needs. 

People are returning to their seats, and it’s almost too late.

“Angie?” she says.

“Yeah, English?” replies Angie, turning to face Peggy. She’s been eating her ice cream — the ones you get at the theatre, with the small cups and the tiny plastic spoon, and there’s a smudge of chocolate on the top of her nose. Peggy smiles.

“You’ve got a little— Just there.” She reaches out and brushes it off, their faces close. Her fingers linger over Angie’s skin and suddenly they’re kissing, as the lights go down, the theatre darkening all around them as the world seems to light up.

They break away. Peggy can hardly see Angie in front of her as her eyes adjust to the dark, but she can tell she’s smiling. “Was that okay?” she asks.

“More than okay,” breathes Angie. 

Somebody on stage is singing and it’s probably important to the plot but neither of them can bring themselves to care. 

So maybe Peggy didn’t exactly plan this. Maybe she’d been expecting to slot back into her old life, with Steve and her job and her friends. Maybe everything is different now.

But she’s got Angie and they’re kissing in a dark theatre and it’s like nobody else in the world matters right now. 

So yeah. She didn’t plan it. But that’s life. And she’s finally feeling alive.

Angie’s face doesn’t lose its bright smile the whole taxi ride back to Peggy’s apartment, and she practically floats through the door, flopping on the sofa.

“You know,” she says, “when I leave the theatre, it feels like I can do anything.”

Peggy’s surprised to see tears in her eyes and sits down quickly. “Are you okay?”

“So much more than okay,” breathes Angie. She opens her eyes and sits up, gazing at Peggy. “This is what I’m going to do with my life, Peggy.”

Peggy smiles. “Yes, it is. You’re going to be a star.”

“A star,” echoes Angie, smiling widely. She glances at Peggy. “Thank you. I can’t say it enough.”

“Always, Ang,” says Peggy sincerely. “I mean it. I’d do anything for you.”

Angie smiles softly. “Same to you, English.”

Peggy bites her lip. “About what happened in the interval--”

“I liked it,” says Angie quickly. “If you did.”

“I did.” Peggy breathes in. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

“I can imagine,” replies Angie, the ghost of a laugh across her lips. 

“I don’t know if I’m any good,” Peggy says awkwardly. “I don’t know if I’m all there yet.”

Angie rests her hand on Peggy’s. “If you want,” she begins, “I can help you get there. We can figure this out together. I don’t need you to be perfect, Peg. I’d just like you to be here.”

“If I want,” repeats Peggy. “Yeah. Yes, I think-- I want to. I can be here. I can do that.”

So Angie leans over and kisses her, her hands on Peggy’s waist, and they lean back, Peggy’s back pressed against the sofa.

“Is this okay?” Angie asks between kisses.

“Yes,” whispers Peggy. Because it really is. It’s okay. It’s more than okay, in fact, because Angie is here and kissing her and she wants her and they’re just here, together, and that’s so much more than okay.


	10. i'd trust him with my life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another precinct is short-staffed, so Peggy helps out a few old friends (and makes some new ones too).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's a bit late! enjoy the cameos :) and happy holidays!

Maria calls her into her office almost the second she walks into the precinct.

“Morning, Captain,” Peggy says easily, smiling. 

“Good morning,” Maria says. “You’re happy this morning.”

“Quite,” says Peggy, but doesn’t elaborate. “What’s up?”

Maria tilts her head. “I have a proposal for you. It’s going fairly slow here today, and we’re more than staffed-enough with just Nat, Clint, and Carol. Phil, on the other hand, is understaffed and struggling over at the 19th. Would you be willing to go over and help them out?”

Peggy considers this. She hasn’t seen Phil since she got out of hospital, and she’s heard stories from Melinda at the girls’ nights. The 19th sounds perfectly fine, and she supposes there’s no problem with helping them out with a case.

“Sure,” she says. “I’d love to help out.”

Phil isn’t sitting at his desk. He’s leaning against a different desk, out in the bullpen, staring intently at the murderboard. Peggy clears her throat and he starts.

“Peggy!” he grins, and gives her a big hug. “It’s been too long. I’ve missed you.”

“You too,” she says. 

“We really appreciate you helping us out,” he says. “Melinda’s ill, and Ward had to go and see his brother. It’s just me and Skye.”

As he says it, a girl peeks her head around the break room door. “I heard my name,” she says. 

Peggy smiles. The girl can’t be older than twenty-six, and her eyes are bright and sparkling. “Hi,” she says. “I’m Peggy.”

The girl waves. “Skye. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’m sure,” Peggy says, biting her lip.

Skye beams. “Yeah. CC’s always telling us stories about the shenanigans at the 24th before he was promoted.” Peggy smiles. 

“CC?” repeats Peggy slowly. 

Phil rolls his eyes. “Captain Coulson,” he explains. “CC.”

Peggy laughs. “I love it,” she says. She claps her hands together. “Right. What’s this case I’m going to help you out on?”

The morgue is larger than Bobbi’s at the 24th, and there’s a tech lab just through a glass door. When Peggy gets down there, a girl in a lab coat and a boy with curly hair are arguing.

“Hey,” she says, loud enough to catch their attention but not enough to startle them. “I’m Peggy Carter. You must be Fitzsimmons. Skye’s told me all about you.”

Skye, at her side, winks at the two of them. The girl blushes.

“Y-yes,” she stammers. “Jemma Simmons. Medical examiner.” She sticks out a gloved hand. Peggy glances at the blood covering it and frowns. “Ah, yes. Sorry.” The girl has a British accent, and Peggy smiles, trying to place it.

“Devon?” she guesses, and Jemma beams.

“Exactly! And…” she trails off.

Peggy’s been living in the States for years. It’s no wonder her accent is no longer easily distinguishable. “Hampstead,” she says. 

“Of course,” says Jemma. “It’s lovely to meet you. You’re something of an idol of mine.”

“Really?” asks Peggy, surprised. “Oh. Well, thank you.”

“Don’t mind her,” says the boy in a strong Scottish accent. “She gets excited. Leo Fitz. Most people just call me Fitz.”

“Nice to meet you,” says Peggy. “I understand you have information for me?”

Jemma turns to the sheet-covered body on the table. “This is Grace Waters. She was thirty one. Cause of death is piercing trauma to the sternum. There’s DNA evidence under her fingernails. I’m running it now.”

Fitz holds his hands up. “It’s not my fault you won’t let me fix the machine.”

“We can’t take it out of commission for a week, Fitz, no matter how much faster you think you can make it run!”

“Think? I _know_ I can make it run faster. It’s not a question of _think_ , Simmons, you know that!”

“Fitzsimmons,” says Phil calmly. “I’m sure the DNA results will be back shortly. Call us if you have anything more.”

“Of course, Captain,” says Jemma. She shares a glance with Skye.

“I’ll just stay and help Jemma with the rest of the autopsy,” says Skye quickly, and it reminds Peggy of someone. Phil gives a knowing smile, and Fitz turns away with a groan.

Jemma smiles and blushes, again. It’s really cute, and it makes Peggy smile too, remembering the way Angie had kissed her last night. She can feel her own cheeks heat slightly.

“What are you thinking about?” asks Phil, quietly enough that she’s the only one who hears. His elbow gently nudged her side.

“I’ll tell you later,” she whispers, and to her own surprise, she means it. 

“I’m glad, Peggy,” Phil says, as they’re looking at the murderboard. “I worry about you, you know. I’m really glad you’re with someone who makes you happy.”

“She does,” says Peggy, reflectively. “She really does.”

Phil’s phone buzzes and he checks it quickly. “Fitzsimmons have a hit on the DNA under the fingernails. Carl Creeley.”

Skye pops her head up from where she’d been resting her feet on her desk. “On it,” she chirps, and runs his name. “He’s on social media, but he doesn’t post much. Only follows like six people.”

Peggy types his name into the database. “There’s a restraining order against him,” she says with growing concern. “An Audrey Nathan. We should get to her, in case he’s planning something.”

Audrey Nathan is pretty and plays the cello and is exactly what she remembers Phil’s type being. Phil is excellent with her; all calm and collected and reassuring. She’s terrified, unsurprisingly, but there’s still a kind of practicality about her.

Phil is looking after her while Skye runs back end, and Peggy’s about to leave when Audrey calls her, asks for a second. Peggy’s not one to deny a victim some comfort, so she goes with Audrey to her small kitchen.

“Captain Coulson,” says Audrey. “He’s good?”

“He’s one of the best,” says Peggy sincerely. “I’d trust him with my life.”

“Okay,” says Audrey. “That’s good, because I am trusting him with mine.” She gives a shaky laugh that Peggy joins politely.

“You’re in good hands,” Peggy says.

“Detective Carter,” Audrey says. “I have a recital tomorrow.”

“It’s not safe for you to go. I’m very sorry.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.” Audrey takes a breath. “This man killed a woman. Was it because of me?”

Peggy frowns. “Yes. We think so. But none of this is your fault, Audrey. You can’t blame yourself for that woman’s death.”

“Let me help,” begs Audrey. “If I go to my recital, he’ll come. I guarantee it. You can arrest him there.”

“Creeley stabbed a woman, Audrey,” says Peggy. “We can’t guarantee you’ll be safe.”

“I’ll be on stage,” says Audrey. “You can’t stab someone on stage.”

“I’ll have to talk to the team,” Peggy says. 

As expected, Phil is vehemently against the idea, but Peggy has to admit that it’s both practical and sensible. Eventually he’s convinced, and she’s hovering by the door, waiting to spot Creeley. Phil’s voice crackles in her ear.

“See anything?”

“Not yet,” she replies. 

“Me either,” says Skye quietly from the stage. Peggy glances up at her. She’s sitting in the second desk of flutes. She’s very definitely not good enough to be in this orchestra at all, but her three years of flute lessons as a child mean she can at least blend in, and the stage gives her a much better position to protect Audrey.

The first notes of the music begin to swell, and Peggy’s glancing around, trying to catch sight of Creeley. She knows he’ll be here. He can’t not be here.

She spots him a couple of seconds later, standing by a side door at the front of the stage. He glances over and meets her eye. A second later, he’s running, and she swears under her breath. She leans down and grabs a briefcase from the side of someone’s seat and politely asks an usher where the door leads.

“Uh, the main lobby,” they say, confused.

“Is there a quicker way down?”

She kicks her heels off and she’s running barefoot down the carpeted corridor, the briefcase swinging in her hand. She comes to the lobby seconds before Creeley and swings the briefcase up at head height. It collides with his thick skull and he’s on the ground, moaning.

“Got him,” she says into her radio. She helps him up and spins him around, clicking handcuffs on his wrists. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

“I’ll be there in a second,” says Phil, and his voice is full of static but he sounds distracted. Skye pops through the door, holding Peggy’s shoes in her hand.

“Come on, Detective. I think CC might want to watch the rest of the show. I’ll give you a ride back.”


	11. you don't have to hold the whole world on your shoulders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy invites the old gang over for dinner, and they reminisce.

The table is set for seven.

Peggy realises this with a jolt just as the doorbell rings and she swears out loud, fumbling to put the plate and cutlery away.

“Coming!” she yells, the knife and fork tumbling into the drawer with a crash. She’s miscalculated. She’d taken their usual number and added two. Stupid.

“Everything all right?” Daniel calls through the door.

“Yep,” she calls back, shoving the glass into the cupboard and slamming it shut. She brushes her trousers and takes a deep breath, willing the tears that are pricking at her eyes away.

She holds the door open and gives Daniel a smile. “You must be Violet,” she says to the blonde woman holding his hand.

“It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” says Violet with a wide grin. “Daniel’s told me all about you.” 

Peggy raises an eyebrow.

“All good things,” protests Daniel.

“I’m sure,” replies Peggy, and opens the door wider. “Come on in. There’s salmon in the oven.”

“Rose is on her way,” says Daniel as he hooks his coat over the peg.

Peggy checks her phone. “Angie’s just coming up. Leave the door open, will you?”

Daniel pulls a chair out for Violet and she sits down daintily, giving him a cheeky smile. “Thanks, handsome,” she says, and grins.

Peggy pulls the salmon out of the oven and adds it to the table, where a plate of steaming potatoes and roasted broccoli are already cooling.

She hears a few noises behind her, then someone’s hand is on her shoulder and she whirls around and very nearly punches them. They back away quickly.

“I’m so sorry,” says Angie.

“It’s fine,” says Peggy, and tries to hide her guilt. Really, it’s not Angie’s fault she startled her. And she knows when Angie says she’s sorry, it’s one of the best promises as she’ll ever get. But she can’t bear the idea that she almost hurt her. “Just a little on edge.” She thinks of the seventh plate, and swallows.

“Hey, Peg!” calls Rose, as she strolls into the flat. “Can I close the door?”

“Yes,” replies Peggy. “He said he’d be a little late.”

They all shuffle into their seats. Peggy tries to move the seventh chair into the living room as subtly as she can, shifting the remaining six seats into a more regular pattern, but she doesn’t miss the look Daniel gives her. It’s a little bit knowing, and a little bit sad.

“This looks amazing, Peggy, thank you.” Rose smiles. Peggy gives a smile back.

“It’s really nice to have you all here again,” she says. “I’ve missed you. Probably not as much as you’ve missed me.” 

Daniel gives a wry laugh. “It’s certainly been a while.”

Angie smiles. “Peggy’s told me a lot of stories about the good old days.”

“We were quite the team,” says Rose. “Captain Fury, Maria Hill, Carol, Peg, me, and Daniel.”

“And, of course, Jarvis,” adds Daniel. “Civilian contractor, he called it. Really it just meant he got called in to sort out the messes Howard got into.”

“Or if I got sick of the rest of you,” adds Peggy, and she feels a little proud she can joke so soon after the reminder of Howard. “He was a breath of fresh air.”

“Please,” Rose says. “You just liked having another British person around.”

Daniel turns to Rose and Angie. “They used to play all sorts of tricks. Once, they actually convinced us that in England, they called pants ‘trousers’. Took us ages to figure that one out.”

Angie frowns. “I thought they did call pants ‘trousers’? Peg does, anyway.”

Peggy laughs, and Daniel looks at her with genuine betrayal in his eyes.

“You mean it was a double bluff?” he gasps, as the doorbell rings. 

Peggy’s still chuckling when she opens the door. “Mr Jarvis!” she exclaims. “So lovely to see you.”

“You too, Miss Carter,” says Jarvis formally. “I hope you don’t mind, I brought my wife along. This is Ana.”

“Come in, Ana,” says Peggy warmly. Ana bounds forwards and gives Peggy a tight hug. Peggy’s startled, unsure what to do with her arms. She pats Ana awkwardly on the back.

“She’s a hugger,” says Jarvis apologetically to Peggy. He turns to his wife. “She is not.”

Peggy laughs. “It’s all right,” she says. “You’re earlier than I thought. Dinner’s not even cool yet.”

The salmon is, if she does say so herself, excellent, and the good food and stories of the good old days grease the conversation along nicely. Violet is truly lovely, and Peggy is really happy Daniel’s found a woman so good for him.

They’d dated, for a while. Peggy and Daniel. It had only been a couple of months before they’d both realised they were far better off as friends. Peggy still has some jewellery Daniel bought her, and she can look at it now and be content with where their relationship has gone. She thinks he might be her best friend.

Ana, too, is very sweet, and it turns out that her huge bag was concealing a delicious cake called dobos torte. She and Angie get along famously, discussing recipes and music and putting up with their respective English partners.

She and Jarvis discuss all things English, like tea and buses and Royal Families. He asks after her brother, and she doesn’t tell him that her sister-in-law has confessed she’s afraid he’s having an affair, but she does tell him about her niece’s fifth birthday. He doesn’t need to know, because she’s not sure she knows. She’d never imagine Michael cheating on his wife. He loves her. There must be another explanation. But Hannah had sounded so concerned, about how distant he’s been, and how much time he’s been spending away… She puts it out of her head. Tonight is not the night.

Angie and Ana are in the kitchen, carefully slicing out pieces of the gorgeous chocolate cake, and Violet has fallen asleep on Daniel’s shoulder.

Daniel makes sure she’s comfortably situated, then carefully rests her head on the back of the sofa and makes his way over to the sofa Peggy’s sitting on.

“I saw the extra chair,” he says quietly, sitting down. “I just want to say, I know what you’re going through. It’s really hard, him not being here.”

“You don’t know what I’m going through, Daniel,” Peggy snaps. She doesn’t want to argue with him, she really doesn’t, but she can’t help it. She’s hurting and she’s angry and maybe it’s not with Daniel, but he’s here. “I missed six years of my life, and when I come back, one of my best friends is dead. How could you possibly know what I’m going through?”

Jarvis comes over and places a hand lightly on Peggy’s shoulder. “We’re all here for you, Miss Carter. You don’t have to hold the whole world on your shoulders. Nobody is capable of that.”

Peggy swallows, and bites her lip. “Steve was,” she says. It’s not that she still loves him. It’s not that she wants him back. It’s more that she misses him. She misses the way he was always so strong and capable. She misses the way she could collapse and he’d be there to pick up her broken pieces.

“As I recall,” says Jarvis gently, “Mr Rogers relied very heavily on you.”

Peggy can’t help the tears rolling down her cheeks, and she turns and buries her head in Daniel’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she chokes out. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” says Daniel. “I miss him too.”

“We all do,” says Rose, and she sits down on Peggy’s other side, wrapping an arm around her friend. “It’s different without him here.”

“A car accident,” Peggy whispers. “It wasn’t supposed to be a car accident.”

“I know,” says Rose, and rubs Peggy’s shoulder. “It was supposed to be going after a serial killer, or maybe one of his inventions blowing up.”

Peggy laughs wetly. “Exactly,” she says. “It wasn’t supposed to be an accident. I was-- I was supposed to get to say goodbye.” She swallows another sob and presses her hand to her mouth.

She’s half-aware of the fact that there are three people seeing her sob on her couch, and she’s half-embarrassed, but she can’t bring herself to care very much. She hurts. She hurts, so much. And she can’t do it alone any more.

Later that night, when everyone’s gone to their respective homes or hotels, she lies in bed with Angie and tells her about Howard. She cries and laughs and remembers the man who was once one of her best friends. Angie holds her, and she cries a little too, and it’s strange to feel so vulnerable but, Peggy thinks, maybe with Angie it might be all right. Maybe she doesn’t have to hold the whole world on her shoulders. Maybe she has Angie.


	12. a woman out of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy and Nat are punished with traffic duty and have an unexpected encounter. Peggy reflects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm?

“Traffic duty,” says Nat in a deadpan voice. 

“In fairness, it’s not our fault,” says Peggy. “It’s entirely Clint’s fault.”

“He doesn’t have to do traffic duty,” grumbles Nat. 

Peggy gives Nat a look. “Yes, because he got suspended. You can’t tell me you’d rather be suspended?”

Nat seems to be genuinely considering it. “At least he doesn’t have to work.”

“At least we get paid,” counters Peggy. “And Maria knows it’s not our fault. He was the one that sprayed you with the fire extinguisher. You were just defending yourself.”

“Yeah, and just because she left you in charge doesn’t mean you could have done anything to stop him from being an idiot.”

“No one can stop him from being an idiot.” The two share an amused look, and Peggy turns to survey the busy New York streets. 

“I remember doing this before,” she says, and Nat gives her a look. Normally, Peggy isn’t exactly one to reveal things about herself unprompted. Nat is silent, and allows Peggy to continue. 

“Traffic duty,” she clarifies. “With Daniel. When we were both just beat cops.” She pauses, a wistful smile on her face. “Those were the simple days.”

“Not simple any more?” says Nat, and it’s not quite a question.

Peggy laughs. “Not simple at all. Confusing and complicated and difficult.” She looks at Nat, something painful in her eyes. “I feel like… a woman out of time.”

“Captain America!” yells a little voice from across the street. Peggy startles, and glances over at a young girl.

“I’m so sorry,” says the girl’s mother. “She’s obsessed with news stories. You-- you’re the cop that disappeared, right?”

“Yes,” says Peggy, because she’s not sure what else to say. The other detectives at the precinct had found her newspaper nickname hilarious, and had taken to calling her ‘Cap’. She doesn’t mind. It makes it feel like it can’t hurt her as much. It’s almost funny. But she’s never heard anyone call her it seriously, because she’s not exactly famous. 

“You’re a superhero,” says the little girl seriously. Peggy could almost laugh. She’s not a superhero. She has nightmares at least once a week and panic attacks more regularly than she’d like. She’s not even strong enough to face the cases related to her disappearance.

But she can’t disappoint this little girl, so she doesn’t flat out deny it, like she wants to.

“I think everyone is a superhero,” she says, bending down and confiding in the little girl. She takes in the oxygen tank her mother is wheeling, the cannula under the girl’s nose, and smiles. “I think everyone who’s living through something hard is a superhero. What’s your name?”

“Hayley,” says the little girl, starry-eyed. 

“Are you brave?”

“I try to be,” says Hayley.

Peggy smiles. “Then I think you’re a superhero too.”

The little girl walks away with her mother, practically skipping, and Peggy lets out a breath.

“That was sweet of you,” says Nat. “You probably made her day.”

“Yes, well,” says Peggy. “She was misguided. I’m nothing near a superhero.”

Nat raises an eyebrow. “You came back from the dead,” she says matter-of-factly. “That makes you a superhero in my books, Cap.”

Peggy knows it’s well-intended, but she can’t help the burning tears that prick at her eyes. “I’m not, Nat,” she says quietly, and closes her eyes. “I’m not strong enough.”

“Why do you say that?”

Peggy bites her lip. “I’m still scared,” she admits, and maybe Nat wouldn’t have been her first choice to break down to, but she’s here and she’s kind and she’s open. “I’m still scared that they’ll find me again, or that I’m still there. I’m just scared, all the time.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not strong, Peggy,” says Nat, and her voice is soft. “You face it every single day. You’re stronger than anyone I know.”

Her first instinct is to deny it, to put herself down, but she pauses for a second. It’s been nearly six months since they’d found her on the side of the road, and she’s doing so much better. Her therapist, a lovely man named Dr Banner, says every session that she’s doing well. They’re even considering moving their sessions to every other week.

She still gets nightmares sometimes, but much less frequently. And when she does have a nightmare, or a flashback, she’s grown so much better at dealing with them. She’s learnt breathing, and grounding, and she has a solid support network of people she can ask for help. Really, she thinks, she couldn’t ask for very much more.

“Maybe I don’t have to be strong,” she says instead. “Maybe it’s okay to be a little bit broken, as long as I pick myself up every time I fall.”

Nat smiles, her eyes kind.

“I can’t change who I am,” says Peggy. “Maybe that’s enough. Maybe I’m enough.

“Maybe I’m alive.”


	13. seems like that kind of a day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when Peggy's beginning to have it together, something shatters the window of the diner and her carefully constructed life.

She’s sitting in the diner with Angie, mug of tea in her hand, when the shot rings out. She’s just leaned forwards to press a kiss to Angie’s lips. If she hadn’t, she’d be dead.

The large glass window behind her shatters and she just has time to grab Angie and get down. A bullet whistles past her, grazing her arm. She gasps in pain, but keeps her head down, afraid that the shooter will try again. She pulls her radio off her belt and clicks it on.

“Margaret Carter, badge number 42631. There’s one shot fired at 101st and Riverside -- I think it’s a sniper. Officer injured.” She glances at the counter, at the waitress slumped over it. “Civilian down.”

“Oh, God,” whispers Angie. “Oh my God.”

“It’s going to be okay,” whispers Peggy. “Stay here. I’m going to see if I can help the waitress.”

She crawls around the counter, doing her best to stay low. Sirens begin wailing in the near distance and she lets out a breath, glad help is on its way. She reaches up to take the waitress’s pulse. Nothing. She carefully lifts her down to the floor, and she sees that the bullet has gone straight into her neck. Peggy bites her lip. There’s nothing she can do.

“Are they shooting at you?” hisses Angie worriedly, kneeling next to her. “Will they try again?”

Peggy hears sirens wailing in the distance, and puts her arm around Angie, pulling her close. “I don’t think they will,” she says, aware that she’s dodging the first question. “But stay down, just in case.”

“What about Molly?” asks Angie, glancing at the lifeless form of the other waitress.

“I’m so sorry,” says Peggy quietly. “There’s nothing I can do.”

She’s a homicide detective. It’s usually a safe bet to assume if there are gunshots anywhere in the vicinity, it’s something to do with her. But all her current cases are closed, and she can’t think of any loose ends, except — She stops, her heart rising into her throat. Except Hydra. They’ve found her, and they’re trying to kill her.

“Hey,” says Angie, but Peggy’s not really listening. “Hey, Peggy, look at me. Breathe. Breathe with me.”

Peggy hadn’t even realised how quick her breathing was becoming. All she’s focused on is Hydra, and how she’s almost definitely about to die. 

The sirens are closer now, and she can hear shouts she vaguely recognises. She thinks she hears Carol’s voice, and Garrett — he’s Internal Affairs now, what is he doing here? — and she hears Maria, out from behind her desk. She imagines them storming up the stairs in Kevlar and black, bursting through a door and cuffing the sniper. She hopes that’s what’s happening.

“Clear,” she hears Maria call. “Everybody, it’s safe now.”

Peggy stands up immediately, but her legs and hands are shaking in a way they haven’t since she’d been found. She makes her way carefully over to Carol, who gives her a big hug.

“One dead,” she reports. “A… Molly.”

Angie squeezes her hand, tears falling down her face. “Molly Bowden,” she explains. “She worked with me.”

Peggy takes a deep breath. “The bullet glanced off me,” she says. “It changed course. If it hadn’t hit me, she wouldn’t be dead.”

“Get medical over here,” says Maria into her radio. She turns back to Peggy. “You’re alive. Most of this diner is safe. You did what you could.”

But it wasn’t enough, thinks Peggy.

The medical team bandage her arm, and Maria tries to convince her to take the day off, but there’s not a chance. She’s the one that got Molly Bowden killed. She’ll be damned if she can’t bring her killer to justice.

Bobbi’s room is harshly lit, as it always is, and for a second Peggy’s not in the autopsy room, she’s in a similarly lit garage, sitting in a single chair in the middle, shelves full of unrecognisable tools along the walls. Bobbi says something, and it snaps her out of the fog.

“What was that?” she asks, trying not to betray her momentary stumble. Bobbi’s face is creased into a worried frown.

“I asked if you’d like a drink,” she says, gesturing to the bottle on her desk. “Seems like that kind of a day.”

It does, doesn’t it. Peggy knows she should say no, should keep her head clear and focused, but, well, she’s not clear and she’s not focused, and the only thing clear in her head is the one word — Hydra. So maybe she needs a little something. Just to take the edge off.

The body is totally unremarkable. The bullet is a standard .308 Winchester, and there’s nothing on it that might betray who’d shot it. And as for the room the sniper had shot from, it was entirely empty except from a table near the window, and there were no fingerprints anywhere. It’s perfect. There’s absolutely nothing to connect any of it to Hydra. 

Peggy is beginning to feel like it’s hopeless. No matter how much better she thinks she’s got, how much progress she’s made, they’re always there. They’re always there, just beyond her reach. She’ll never get them. She’ll never be safe.

She throws herself into her work, hardly even pausing to eat the sandwich Carol brings her somewhere around lunchtime. She’s painfully aware of every noise, every shift in movement. Garrett, who’s apparently here to conduct a survey on the precinct, is constantly moving around, inspecting everyone, and his presence is distracting.

Every time she looks up from the paperwork she’s filing on her closed cases while she’s waiting on a lead from Nat about the sniper, she thinks she sees Pierce, or a different blurred Hydra face. Over the course of the day, she gets flashes of memories that leave her breathless every time. A tiny, dark bedroom. A single chair. Ropes, and chains, and every tool under the sun.

It takes Angie coming to the precinct for her to remember she has to go home. They have an almost silent dinner of Chinese takeout, and Angie goes to bed, exhausted from the long day. 

Peggy, on the other hand, doesn’t think she could sleep if she’d been awake for days.


	14. leave it to burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy doesn't want to hurt Angie, and doesn't know who to trust.

As Peggy’s sitting awake in bed late at night, she glances over at the clock. Eleven fifty-two. She sighs, and looks at Angie sleeping next to her. Angie is worried, she can tell. Not that she can blame her. She’s been shot at. And she recognises old patterns well enough to know she’s spiralling. Panic attacks, flashbacks, insomnia. And more than that — she has a kind of hypervigilance, afraid to let her guard down at any moment. She’s throwing herself into her work, desperate to find the answers.

But if she’s totally honest, she’s not that worried about herself. As awful as this is to deal with, it’ll get her the results she needs. And when it’s all over, when the killer is in custody, that’s when she can break, crumble. That’s when she can sleep.

Maria doesn’t believe it’s conclusive that this is connected to Hydra. Her argument is that there must be hundreds of people who want Peggy dead, and that there’s no tenable link. But Peggy knows. She knows it’s them. She just does. 

The question playing over and over in her mind is just, why now? She’s not a threat to Hydra. She knows exactly what they think of her. A traumatised NYPD cop with a history of skirting the rules and a six year period of her life nobody can account for. She’s not a threat to them — she’s a laughingstock. And despite everything, she’s convinced there’s someone protecting her. Someone keeping her alive. So what’s changed? What’s different now?

She’d picked up the box of files she’d had before the accident six years ago after leaving them with Daniel. She pauses. She’d never assumed there was anything important in there. But maybe with what she knows now, and what’s in that box — maybe that’s what’s so important. Maybe that’s what makes her dangerous.

If there is someone protecting her, maybe something’s happened to them. Maybe they’ve changed their mind. Or maybe this is just bigger than them.

There’s no way they could have got to the files at Daniel’s house, because he’s an FBI agent and he has a level of security the President could only dream of. But with her, it’s vulnerable. And maybe… If there’s something in the box that could break the case, and she finds it, they need her dead, and the box destroyed. Maybe that’s too much of an opportunity to pass up.

She swings her legs out of bed, and begins to walk towards where she’s hidden the box — in the shoe cupboard. As she leaves the room, she hears the beep of her alarm clock telling her it’s midnight. She turns around, her breath quickening, and it probably saves her life. 

There’s fire, and she can’t hear anything but the ringing in her ears. She realises she’s on the floor, and the floor is burning, and she’s in so much pain. Angie, she thinks. She manages to get to her knees and crawl to the bedroom. Angie’s worriedly sitting up in bed, soot streaked across her forehead.

“Peggy!” she yells. “Oh my God, Peg, what’s happening?” She’s crying as she kneels to hug Peggy, and Peggy tries to hide her wince.

“Explosion,” she manages, and coughs. 

“We have to get out!” says Angie. “Can you stand?”

Peggy tries. “Yes,” she says, though her teeth are gritted. 

“I’ll help you.”

They’re almost to the door when Peggy realises something. “Stop,” she gasps. She hobbles over to where the shoe cupboard used to be and prises open the still-burning door, ignoring the pain. The box is semi-intact, and all the papers inside are singed and fragmented. She picks up all the pieces she can manage with her aching arms and piles them into the sooty box, clutching it to her chest.

“Was that really that important?” asks Angie. 

“Yes,” says Peggy, serious. “This might be why they’re trying to kill me.”

“Then leave it to burn,” says Angie desperately.

“I can’t,” Peggy says. “I have to get them, Angie. I’m never going to be safe, with this box or not. They’ll stop at nothing. The only way I can be safe is to put them all away.”

Angie takes her waist. “Come on,” she says. “We have to go.”

Carol’s waiting outside the burning building and comes over to Peggy as she’s being treated in the ambulance, a medic splinting her broken arm, bandaging her burnt palms, and rewrapping the bandage around her bullet graze.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” Carol says, and it’s a joke, but Peggy feels tears prick at her eyes. “Hey, come here.”

She sits down, and Peggy buries her head in her chest and allows herself to just cry. “Angie,” she whispers. “She could have died.”

“But she didn’t,” says Carol.

“I want her in witness protection,” she says, pulling away from Carol and looking her in the eyes. “Please.”

“Okay,” says Carol, uncertainly.

“It’s Hydra,” Peggy says. “It’s them. They’re trying to kill me.”

Carol looks pained, and Peggy snaps. “What?”

“It was a gas leak, Peg,” she says quietly. “It was just an accident.”

“No,” says Peggy, shaking her head. “No, it’s not. It’s not. They want to kill me. They know I have this.”

Carol looks at the box. “Peggy,” she says, gently. “It’s just a box of scraps.”

“It was the files,” she says desperately. “It was the Hydra files. There’s something in there. It’s important.”

“Okay,” says Carol, but it’s clear she doesn’t believe her.

“You think I’m crazy,” says Peggy with dawning realisation.

“No,” says Carol, but it’s unconvincing.

“You think I’m paranoid. You think I’m traumatised just like everyone else. This is what they’re doing, Carol, don’t you see? They’re ruining my reputation so I’ll never pose a threat to them again!” Peggy pauses, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

“I don’t need you. I can do this on my own. I’ll prove it, you’ll see.”

She pushes the medic away, and realises she has nowhere to go. Her apartment is in flames above her. She doesn’t have anything. She has no clothes but the pyjamas she’s wearing, no possessions but the burnt box of papers. She has no phone, no-one to call. She glances over at Angie, at the medic carefully patching her wounds, and thinks, this is my fault. She can’t be around Angie. She’ll only get her hurt. She thinks of the only person’s address she remembers off by heart, and takes a deep breath.

She begins to walk, the pavement hot and sharp under her bare feet. She must look a right sight. But luckily it’s not too far to go, and in what feels like a few minutes, she’s standing at the door to an apartment she knows all too well.

She swallows heavily. This is going to have been a mistake. But she has no other choices. 

She rings the doorbell, and within a few minutes, it’s opened.

“Steve,” she says. “I need your help.”


	15. from by your side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Peggy's not totally alone after all.

“Jesus, Peg, you look like hell,” says Steve as he closes the door behind her.

“I had nowhere else to go,” says Peggy desperately. “I’m sorry.”

“No, not at all,” Steve says. “Sit down. Tell me everything.”

So she does. She tells him about the Hydra case, about all the memories she’s been having, about the sniper and the explosion and about how she’s entirely, hopelessly alone. By the end of the story, she’s sobbing, and Steve gives her a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry you’re going through this,” he says softly. “You can stay with us as long as you need.”

Us. She’s expected this — expected to see Bucky here. What she didn’t expect was for it not to hurt any more.

“I’m not crazy, Steve,” she says. “They’re after me. I know it.”

“I believe you,” he says, and it feels like her chest is about ten pounds lighter. “How can I help?”

She points to the box, and to where it’s been put down on the coffee table. “There’s something in here that’s worth killing for.”

“Okay,” says Steve. “But first, you can borrow some of my clothes. I think those pyjamas might be a little bit ruined.”

Peggy smiles, for the first time since the sniper. “Okay,” she agrees.

When she emerges from the bathroom, dressed in the smallest clothes Steve could find, Bucky is in the living room, and Steve is just finished catching him up.

“Maybe I can help,” Bucky says. “I used to be with them. I know some of their secrets.”

Peggy nods. To her surprise, it’s not awkward at all. She sits down on the sofa between them, and they both wrap an arm around her. It’s nice. It reminds her of when they were deployed together, of how close they’d been back then. She’s glad they’re regaining that. She’s missed them.

The next few hours amount to what’s essentially the most boring, highest-stakes jigsaw puzzle in the world. There are piles of papers — redacted references to M Carter, scraps of numbers, handwritten notes, even a couple of documents that have clearly been written on a typewriter. Eventually Peggy falls asleep on Bucky’s shoulder, and wakes up with a start a couple of hours later.

“It’s okay,” says Bucky calmly. “You’re safe.”

Peggy’s breathing begins to slow, and as she’s calming herself down, she glances over at one of the smaller pieces of paper that Steve’s put back together.

It’s a photocopy of a piece of paper that had been found at a now-seven-year-old arms deal. It’s handwritten, with the words “Cepier - 450 AK47”.

At the time, they’d all realised that this was part of an order — 450 AK47s for Cepier. But they’d never been able to pinpoint who exactly Cepier was. Looking at it now, though, it’s as if the letters rearrange themselves in her head. 

“Cepier,” she whispers. “Pierce.” She glanced at Steve. “This is talking about Alexander Pierce.”

“We can’t prove it,” says Bucky gently. “It’s a good lead, but it’s entirely circumstantial. It’ll never hold up.”

“I’ll take it to him,” says Peggy defiantly. “I’ll show him I have it, and that I’m not willing to back down. He’s clearly scared enough of it.”

“Unless that’s not even what we’re looking for,” says Steve. “This is impossible to link to him. What if there’s something else he’s afraid of?”

“You can’t go back to him,” says Bucky. “You’d be in too much danger.”

Peggy slumps on the couch. “So this is it,” she says quietly. “We can’t figure out why they’re after me. We can’t get the people who are after me. I’ll never be safe.”

“Not exactly,” says Steve. “You say they have a mole in the NYPD?”

“Yes,” says Peggy. “But I have no idea who.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “If you handed this box in as evidence in the explosion, the mole would get rid of it, yes?”

“Definitely,” says Bucky. “It’s too dangerous.”

“But we can’t just let them have it,” Peggy argues. “It’s too important.”

“We don’t need to,” says Steve. “If we recreate the box, we can keep the real evidence to continue going over. All it would take is some tea bags and matches.” He pauses, and takes Peggy’s hand. “I really think this will work.”

“It’ll buy you time,” says Bucky. “You’ll be safe. And we can keep working on it in the meantime.”

“You’d do that for me?” asks Peggy.

“Of course,” says Bucky. “You’re our friend. We’d do anything for you.”

Two days later, Peggy hands the mocked-up box into evidence and returns to work. She lets them believe what they like — that she’s crazy, paranoid, traumatised. Her friends stay closer than ever. There’s only one person to whom she tells the truth.

“I’m sorry, Angie,” she says. “I pushed you away because I was afraid you’d get hurt. I should never have left you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Angie replies. “You don’t have to try and protect me.”

“I’ll always try and protect you,” says Peggy. “But maybe this time I can do it from by your side.”

Angie leans in and kisses Peggy softly. “Okay,” she whispers. “I’d like that.”


	16. anything for this to be over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a new development in the Hydra case, which leads to some... complications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry about my updating schedule, guys! i'm going to try to get back to a regular one hopefully, but please be patient with me xxx thank you so much for sticking with me anyway!  
> \- astra *

She wakes up with no idea of the day she’s about to have. 

She glances over at Angie, still asleep next to her in bed, and smiles. She can’t quite believe that this wonderful woman wants to live with her. The clock reads six-thirty, and she groans quietly. She’s still not happy about how early she has to get up for work.

She picks up her phone. To her surprise, there’s a text from an unknown number. She opens it and can’t deny her confusion. It’s from Jack Thompson in Robbery. She hasn’t talked to Jack in seven years. The text itself is vague and nonspecific. It just invites her to come to the Robbery part of the building when she gets into work that day. She frowns, but decides that it’s a problem for later on.

She presses a quick kiss to Angie’s cheek, smiling at the way her girlfriend rolls over and mumbles something in her sleep. She gets up, gets dressed in a pale blue blouse, brown wide-leg trousers, and a brown blazer. She pulls her satchel over her shoulder and leaves the apartment, careful to lock the door behind her. She’s not taking any chances. Not after the explosion.

The precinct is quiet, as she expected. The subway ride from Angie’s place to the precinct is long enough, but not so long that she’s not one of the first in the building. Natasha is already at her desk filling out some forms, and she can see Maria’s shape through the office windows.

Peggy puts her bag down at her desk and knocks on Maria’s door. She hears a muffled call to come in, so she opens the door to find Maria poring over papers strewn across her desk.

“This is interesting,” Peggy says. “Is everything alright?”

Maria looks up. “You can’t tell anyone,” she says. Peggy frowns.

“I won’t,” she promises. “You’re my friend. I wouldn’t break your trust.”

Maria sighs, and leans back in her chair. “I’m thinking about transferring.”

“What?” Peggy asks, and sits down in the chair opposite. “Why?”

Maria points at a page on her desk, where the fraternisation rules between employees are highlighted in neon green. “Bobbi and I are dating.”

“That’s great, Maria,” says Peggy, not even trying to pretend she's surprised. “I’m glad you’ve found someone as good as Bobbi.”

“It’s not great if it means I have to be transferred,” says Maria. “Garrett’s still finishing his evaluation, and it’s getting harder to hide. And the rules are clear. I’m her boss. We can’t be together.”

Peggy pauses, thinking. “I don’t know, Maria,” she says. “I’m sure we can come up with a solution.”

“I’m sure,” echoes Maria. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Oh!” says Peggy, having completely forgotten the reason she came in. “Thompson wanted me to see him in Robbery. Is it all right if I take a moment to go and see what he wants?”

“Of course,” says Maria, as Peggy had predicted she would. “Don’t be long. There’s a case I’d like you to run point on.”

“I’ll be as quick as I can,” promises Peggy, and she still feels a swell of pride at being offered point. As long as she’s in this job, she doesn’t think that feeling will ever fade.

Jack Thompson looks almost exactly like she remembers him. He’s tall, and stocky, and blonde, and he greets her with that booming voice she remembers so many orders in.

“Marge!” he grins. “Long time no see! Glad you got my message.”

“I’m on a case, Thompson,” says Peggy shortly. “Make it quick.”

“You might want to give that case to somebody else,” Jack says. “You’ll want to work on this with me.”

Peggy thinks that’s doubtful, but follows him to his desk anyway. He sits, and she leans against the wood, sceptical.

“We caught an arms robbery the other day,” begins Jack. “A crate of C4 was stolen from a distributor downtown. The robber was fairly inexperienced, and we have enough leads to point us to the warehouse where we believe the goods are being delivered to today.”

“Sounds like you have it all wrapped up, Jack,” says Peggy. Jack nods.

“We do. But I thought you’d want to see this.” He hands her an evidence report with a partial print blown up big on the page. “This was found at the scene. There were no matches in the database, except one.”

Peggy glances at the match written on the page. “Oh.”

“Techs found this print on your shirt when you were recovered,” says Jack matter-of-factly. “We think it’s the same person. And the warehouse is in Iowa.”

“Let me talk to my Captain,” says Peggy, her voice clipped. “And then I’m coming.”

Four hours later, they’re on the ground in Iowa, just minutes before the scheduled C4 delivery. Peggy is surrounded by men in SWAT gear, with Jack Thompson on her left and Carol on her right. John Garrett has taken the liberty of accompanying them, as further information for his evaluation. He plans to visit their families next, to gather evidence as to their moralities, or some other IA waffle. But for now, he’s just a nuisance in the way.

“You didn’t have to come,” Peggy whispers to Carol. 

“And miss the chance to take out the bastards who got you? Not a chance.” Carol flashes her a smile, and Peggy gives a smile back. “How are you holding up?”

“About as well as can be expected,” replies Peggy honestly. She shrugs. “I’m angry. I’m really angry. I’ll do anything, Carol. Anything for this to be over.”

“Soon,” replies Carol, and before she knows it, they’re storming into the warehouse after a truck with guns out and there’s shouting and gunshots and she’s not afraid, she’s blindingly angry. She wants to get them. She wants to make them pay.

When her head finally fully clears, all of the men and women in the warehouse have been cuffed and are being held or guarded by various SWAT team members. She recognises some of them. There’s a kid who she thinks was called Werner, a blonde woman, and various older men. Alexander Pierce is conspicuously missing. 

Someone unlocks a trapdoor in the floor, and she’s greeted with the sight of the room she’s been seeing in her nightmares. It’s tiny, with dirty walls, a single bed, and a small toilet to the side. She thinks she can still feel the ropes around her wrist, and the warehouse above her looks different without the chair she remembers so clearly. She feels sick. It’s wrong, seeing it like this. Empty. She knows there’s no reason to fear it any more, but she can’t help it. Her heart feels like it’s lodged somewhere in her throat.

She climbs back up, and finds herself standing in what amounts to a glorified hayloft. The rest of the Hydra people are on the ground with the SWAT team, and the only people on the loft are her fellow officers. She tugs off her bulletproof vest and turns to Carol.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” she says quietly. “I know who the head of Hydra is. He as much as admitted it to me when I spoke to him.”

Carol looks shocked, but is clearly about to press on, when there’s a muffled crack and she stiffens in panic. She glances at Carol to make sure she’s okay, but there’s blood staining Carol’s lower arm and she tries to call out, to make a sound, but she realises there’s a pain in her abdomen and she can’t breathe and everything is swimming and blurring and there are noises and shouts but she can’t _breathe_ and everything goes a blinding white.


	17. this is important

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy wakes up, and Bobbi has some unsettling revelations.

Peggy wakes up in the hospital for the second time. Just like last time, there are flowers around her bed, she’s disoriented and confused, and there are more people in her room than she’d like. But unlike last time, this time, Angie’s here.

“Peggy,” whispers Angie, and leans over to press a kiss to her cheek, her tears falling onto Peggy’s face.

“Hi, Ang,” Peggy mumbles, her throat aching. “What happened?”

“You got shot,” Angie explains, her voice shaking. “You’ve been asleep for three days. I thought you might never wake up.”

“I’m here,” Peggy whispers. “I’m okay.”

“Peg,” says Daniel, and hugs her gently once Angie has let go. “I’m so glad you’re okay. Everyone’s been here -- Jarvis flew over as soon as he heard, and I had to make Carol go home and take a shower.”

“Carol,” says Peggy, and remembers. “Is she okay? Oh, God, is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” says Bobbi. “The bullet went straight through you and into her arm, but she was discharged two days ago. She’ll be back as soon as she hears you’ve woken up.”

She squeezes Peggy’s hand. She looks like there’s more she wants to say, but she stops. Peggy wants to ask, wants to press, but Bobbi’s eyes flick in Angie’s direction.

“Go home, Angie,” she says softly. “Take a shower. Change clothes. Bobbi’s here -- I’ll be okay. Just get some sleep. You look like hell.”

“I look like hell?” says Angie, nearly hysterical. “You got shot, Peggy!”

Peggy gives her a small smile. “I’ve been hurt before. I’ll be fine, I promise. Just get some rest. I need you to be okay.”

“I need _you_ to be okay,” replies Angie, but she slowly lets go of Peggy’s hand. “Keep her safe,” she says to Bobbi.

“I promise,” Bobbi says.

Angie leaves with Daniel, reluctantly, and Peggy turns her attention to Bobbi. “What is it?” she asks, trying to push down the knot of anxiety gnawing at her insides. Bobbi looks uncertain.

“Carol said you were on the balcony.”

“It was more of a hayloft,” says Peggy, but she knows that’s not the important part. “Why?”

Bobbi leans in, eyes deadly serious. “This is really important, Peggy. Were there any Hydra guys on the hayloft with you?”

“No,” replies Peggy instantly.

“This is important, Peg. Think.”

“I don’t need to think. It was just cops.” Peggy shakes her head. “Why is this important, Bob?”

Bobbi takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “The bullet was a 9mm.”

“The same one used in cop guns,” fills in Peggy. “Still, it’s not only--”

“The trajectory of the bullet shows that it was fired from a level position. And pretty close range, too. There’s no way anyone on the ground could have fired it at that angle.”

Peggy is silent, trying to comprehend what she’s saying. “But it was-- you’re saying--”

Bobbi nods gravely. “You were shot by an officer.”

The reality of the statement hits her full-force and she sucks a quick breath in, but there seems to be no air in the room. She can feel her cheeks heat up, and she’s breathing, but there’s no oxygen and she’s breathing too fast and she’s going to die all over again.

“Peggy,” says Bobbi, and it sounds like she’s underwater. “Peggy, breathe. It’s-- you’re okay. You’re safe.”

She manages to shake her head. “Not safe,” she whispers. “Never.” It hurts, this hyperventilating, it hurts more than she can say, and there’s a sharp stab of pain in her lower abdomen. She glances down, eyes blurred, and can make out a spreading red stain on the bandages.

Someone pulls her hand away and she looks up to see a nurse she recognises holding her hand. “It’s okay,” says Violet. “You just tore your stitches. We’ll get you stitched up, don’t worry. Daniel?”

Daniel comes into view and sits down at the side of the bed, resting a hand on her arm. “Hey, Peg. It’s me. Just breathe for me, okay? Breathe with me.” He gives exaggerated breaths, and Peggy tries her hardest to copy him. It takes an embarrassingly long time to manage it, and by the time she’s done, Violet has finished redressing her wound. Daniel gives her hand a squeeze.

“Okay now?” he asks.

“Better,” she whispers. 

He turns to Bobbi, angry. “What the hell did you do?”

Bobbi looks worried, so Peggy speaks up. “It’s okay, Daniel. She didn’t do anything. There was a noise from outside, and I thought…” She shrugs. “It’s not her fault.” She meets Bobbi’s eyes and says it again, as sincerely as she can. “It’s not your fault.”

Daniel relaxes, giving Peggy a small smile. “Lucky we were here.”

It’s two weeks later, and she’s not cleared for active duty but she’s allowed to come in for paperwork and desk duty. She’s given this a lot of thought, despite the fact that it might seem like a rash decision. If someone’s going to try to kill her, they’d bloody well better get on with it. She’s not going to spend her life always looking over her shoulder, always afraid.

She’s sick of the hypervigilance, the stress, the constant tension.

She’s sick of being scared.

So maybe someone’s after her, maybe she’s in danger. But she wears a bulletproof vest under her turtleneck jumpers, and Bobbi’s looking out for her and Maria’s got her back.

She doesn’t tell Angie.

Maybe she should. Maybe it’s unfair to hide it, to pretend it’s not happening. But if she really is in danger, the more Angie knows, the less safe she is. And she doesn’t need to worry her.

And she breathes. She finally calls her therapist, and schedules the first session since seeing Senator Pierce at that campaign so many months ago. She puts an effort into getting better. If they want her dead, if they want her hurt, they can do it themselves. She’s not going to make it easy on them any more.

There are cases, and there are murders, and there are suspects. And it’s not like everything’s back to normal.

But she has Angie, and she has her friends, and she has Steve and Bucky still working on the papers. She’s alive.

And for now, maybe that’s enough.


End file.
